


Planets, Revolving

by GeometryOfTime



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (I mean it is Klaus), Drug Use, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Neighbors AU, Pseudo-Incest, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Smut, They're not related in this, Though not at all, What's the opposite of a slow burn? That, because of, developing feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeometryOfTime/pseuds/GeometryOfTime
Summary: Diego moves to a new building, and his neighbor on the other side of the (very thin) wall is a guy called Klaus, who instantly catches Diego's eye.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 53
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

The man took a sharp left turn, boots skidding as he turned his entire body to follow his feet to run to the alley. Diego was still recovering from when he’d tripped over the dog’s leash, finally gaining his balance enough to turn and shout a ‘sorry’ to the angry lady who was now leaning to pick up the floppy-haired pooch. ‘Sorry,’ he said again, turning right back and sprinting towards the alley. He doesn’t look both ways when he crosses the street - his ears tell him he should be safe - and he is on the other side long before any cars are even approaching. 

Not even three steps later, Diego’s brain caught up with something he’d seen with the corner of his eye just seconds before, and he slowed down. He eventually came to a halt, hands in the air by his side as he looked back and saw the figure that had caught his eye - on the other side of the street, a redhaired woman wrapped around his arm, walking slowly and talking to him with a smile. It’s been years, but Diego instantly recognized him. Quentin. 

Fifteen years, Diego has to guess, since he last saw him and the boy has changed but still managed to retain his striking features and that rebellious strainghtness in his spine. There was a time when Diego, entering his father’s study after his lessons, could swear he saw the lines of Quentin’s face in the notes on the chalkboard in Father’s study. 

The metal clang of a trashcan tipping and rolling against the pavement brought Diego to himself and he took off towards the alley. The couple of seconds’ distraction was all the runner needed; it wasn’t even a full minute and still, there were no traces of him when Diego got to the closed-off end of the alley. The purse the guy had snatched was laying by a dumpster, having miraculously landed right between two puddles. Diego took it back to the girl, though he noticed the way her entire body jolted when she saw him approach her with determined, quick steps. The city would leave its scars on everyone, no matter how hard Diego tried to make his part to keep it a little cleaner. 

It was one of those nights when he felt his efforts ridiculously futile. Father never commented on his night-time activities, but Diego saw the disdain in his face when he saw new bruises on Diego’s skin. Back then, it only made him want to go out there all the harder but now, years later, he had nights when he struggled to tell himself that it was worth it. 

Diego retired earlier than he normally would, feeling completely taken out of his head. On instinct, he drove in the direction of his old apartment - Eudora’s really - before he caught himself and turned around, trying to consciously take in his new neighborhood. His new grounds for patrol.  _ His _ part of town, away from Eudora’s precinct. 

The apartment somehow managed to look even more desolate in person than it did in the pictures, even with all the sunlight and well-chosen angles. The living room was mostly unfurnished - save for a comically large couch placed in the middle of the room, facing a TV wall mount with a couple of wires hanging out of the wall. He hung his jacket, dropping his bags by the kitchen counter, opening random cabinets in search of a glass.

He could still smell it though, lingering sharply despite the open windows - the chemical cleaners used to sanitize crime scenes. Diego didn’t mind it as much as he probably should have, he realized as he inhaled deeply despite his better instincts. 

Diego groaned when he saw the bedroom - Carl wasn’t kidding when he said ‘partially furnished’. The mattress was placed straight on the hardwood floors - the main selling point the landlord focused on - the sheet bunched messily under the bottom. From what he remembered, the murder took place in the living room so the sheets were probably clean; they certainly smelled like it, aggressively so. He was still apprehensive to sleep on them, and the rest of his stuff was still at Eudora’s so he’d have to improvise. He took out the large towel from his bag, placing it on  _ his _ side of the bed, then taking the small one and heading for the shower.

That had been his first attempt to go back on patrol since he broke up with Eudora, and his body was rightfully confused by his recent sleeping patterns. For hours, Diego tossed and turned, falling in and out of a shallow sleep, replaying bits of his fight with Eudora until his thoughts focused on one person - Quentin. 

Diego woke briefly, ripped out of the corridors of his mind by a sudden yell coming from the other side of the wall. He was conscious only for a second before he fell right back into his sleepless dream, opening his eyes to the yellow light in the creaky stairwell of his childhood house. The words come muffled, an unnatural whisper spilling from the boy’s mouth straight onto the steps below instead of to Diego, though they are addressed to him. He turns to see the boy, now crouched in the small foyer, lacing his shoes, and Diego remembers how he found himself fascinated by their impeccable shine. They were always polished, always looked brand new - until they weren’t. Until Quentin started being late for his lessons, started to rile Diego’s father up so often that there wasn’t a single lesson when his voice wasn’t raised.

Father’s office always smelled musty, despite the large windows, and though it never made sense, it felt appropriate. It was the place where Diego and Luther were periodically appraised and reminded of the multiple ways in which they’ve disappointed Father, the place that turned, thrice weekly for a few hours, in a private tutoring office for specially gifted children. The place where Diego started his lessons alongside Quentin but was dismissed only two lessons in, when his father deemed him so far behind the boy that it would be a waste of everyone’s time to try and include him. The place was an earthly extension of hell, it made sense that it would smell like it too.

Once again, Diego came close to the edge of consciousness enough to realize the smell he was feeling was faintly coming through the wall - or the vents - and it was the unmistakable smell of pot, not mold. The small exertion of having untangled his feet from the sheets sent him right back into the dream he was weighed down into. 

He’s in one of the draughty hallways of the mansion, feeling pinpricks in his toes as he curls them to get the blood flowing. Father insisted on no shoes in the house, and Diego hated the cold but liked how he could be so silent in only his socks. Nobody notices he’s there when Quentin sits down after being admonished for his tardiness, and Diego can clearly hear the hiss when the boy leans against the back of the chair, his face twisted as he stands straight. 

_ “Fifth place? Even Diego can do better.”  _

He remembers walking back to his room after his father spat those words, locking himself in there - pointlessly, Father never came there, he always sent for Diego if he ever wanted to see him. He’s on his bed, at the end of the corridor but he can still see Quentin sat at his small desk, Father towering above him, a book in one hand, his perpetually sour look stretched on his face almost grotesquely. _ Fifth place. _ That’s when it all started to change for Quentin, that’s when his shoes started to track in mud, his hair fell pomade-free in his eyes, and when he stopped acknowledging Diego. The once pristine dress shoes were then replaced by sneakers, the uniform shorts by jeans, the blazer was tossed over his shoulder the second he got out of their house.

Quentin had been crying. He avoided Diego’s eyes when they intersected in that small staircase, looking at the steps below as he spoke, but it was obvious in the staccato of his breath, punctuated by rhythmic half-sobs. The words were merely a whisper, and Diego understood them too late - he heard them, but they made no sense in the moment. His father never lay a hand on Diego or Luther, why would he touch one of his students? 

Too late does Diego remember the flash he caught through the open door, how Quentin winced even before the lesson started - and Diego understood that it wasn’t his father that did that to him, it was Quentin’s. Diego had never seen the man, but his mind didn’t need a face. He could clearly imagine his sneer, and all he could hear was spat-out words and the crack of the leather and Quentin’s cries as it landed on his back, over and over again.

One of the sharpest cracks jolted Diego awake, brain moving honey-thick but eventually understanding that what he heard was a door falling shut from next door. A thud followed by laughter and eventually by rhythmic creaking and moaning made Diego bury his head in the pillow. When silence settled back once more, Diego drifted off to a dreamless sleep until late in the morning, the last conscious thought of his being the words Quentin said to him in that stairwell -  _ “I got the belt this time.” _

It’s midway through the morning when Diego wakes up, foot hanging off the mattress, the other tangled in the sheet. His head feels heavy, a headache threatening to settle in, an appropriate herald for the day ahead. He drinks a glass of water, then he brushes his teeth, eyes catching his scar in the mirror. It’s odd how he doesn’t even consciously notice it anymore, how he becomes blind through the inertia of life to the things that used to stand out, that used to matter.

He dives to his place - Eudora’s, he has to correct himself again - checking his watch once more when in the parking lot. He knows Eudora wouldn’t be home, but he feels like he has to check to make sure. It’s not his first breakup, but it feels like it’s the first one to hurt quite this much, and he feels maybe a little bit bitter, a little bit hurt in his pride. His boxes wait for him in the hallway and he doesn’t go inside any further than that, despite a small pull of nostalgia that almost pushes him to take one last look, to say a symbolic goodbye to the place and to a period of his life that has come to a close. He locks the door behind him, dropping the key in the mailbox before he loads the boxes in the car and heads back to his new place.

Four boxes, and they aren’t even all that heavy - his entire life fits in four boxes. Diego is pretty sure it says something about him, but he’s neither willing nor able to dwell on it, choosing instead to think of the one part of his life that weighed on him lately, without even being tangible. Well, more tangible than the knives and the leather. He finds himself thinking, as he so often did recently, about what Grace said to him one time after she patched him up:  _ “As long as you think it’s worth it, it’s the right thing to do.” _

The elevator doors start to close when he hears a voice from the lobby.

“Wait for me!”

He doesn’t even have the time to find the button to stop the doors, when a hand slips in right between the closing doors, making them stutter a couple of times before they open back up. 

“Thank you. This elevator is moody at best; I thought I’d take a ride now that it’s being offered. Third floor please.”

Diego presses the button for the third floor once again, though a bit later than he wanted to, eyes still stuck to the man who was brave enough to stick his hand through doors that had “out of order” written on them in large, sharpied letters, like it’s a thing that happens more often than not. He’s trying not to stare at the man but of course, he manages the opposite judging by the way the guy smiles coyly, shamelessly measuring him from head to toe. He was quite a sight too; Diego wasn't sure he’s ever seen a man look so good in a skirt, combat boots and a coat. No shirt, like it was normal - it wasn’t, Diego quickly decided - but he did not mind it one bit. He didn’t mind that, just as he didn’t mind the bright glint in those light green eyes, and the way they stood out, calling attention with a bold line of kohl. 

He opens his mouth just as the elevator almost passes the first floor, then it stops, drops a few terrifying inches and stops once more. 

“Uhh-” The man turns to the doors, his black curls bouncing as he does an absolutely insane thing and jumps, once, before declaring, “I think we’re stuck.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Sometimes it gets unstuck if you remind it which way is up and down, you know?” He sighs, leaning against the door briefly before he quickly peels away, turning his head to look at the back of his coat. He looks back, an obvious wave of relief washed over him as he smiles again. “I’m Klaus, by the way. Apartment 3D.”

“Diego, 3C. Next door neighbors?”

“Oh yeah, I think I heard something about finally getting a neighbor. Hope Ben and I aren’t too loud.” 

Diego thinks back to the previous night and the early morning heated marathon that his neighbors had been having. He tactfully doesn’t mention it.

“Well Diego, will you press that bell? I don’t have all day. People to meet, drugs to buy, you know.” He waves, reaching for the buttons himself, but he takes an unsteady step forward and has to catch himself instead when the elevator jolts, creaking slightly as it starts to go up. The miracle is short-lived; the elevator stops once more just a few seconds later, then takes them back to the ground floor where the doors open as if in surrender.

“Great.” 

“Well, it’s definitely preferable to getting stuck between floors for who knows how long.” Klaus eyes Diego’s boxes. “I can help you with those if you want.”

“You sure?” Klaus nods. “Alright. You take the top two, I’ll take the bottom.”

Klaus snorts as he bends to lift the top two boxes, and Diego does not think before he asks, “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I’m the one who usually gets to bottom.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Diego says, accidentally out loud, when his brain catches up to the trap he set himself. Klaus laughs, tripping against the first step but catching his footing quickly. He proceeds to go up the stairs with ease but making sure to complain the whole way up.

Once the boxes are safely inside his apartment, Klaus comes right in, settles in the middle of the living room and starts looking around. There’s something about him, not quite rude, maybe presumptuous? that Diego feels like he should be bothered by, but surprisingly isn’t. Klaus focuses briefly on an empty corner, staring at it intently, face suddenly turning grim. The mood changes in a split-second, as he turns on his heels, the skirt swishing around his legs and he’s smiling again. Smiling and flirting? Maybe? Hopefully? Diego can’t be sure if that’s not just how Klaus is, or if it’s his positively interested brain that decides to read it as flirting - either way, he decides to go for it. New beginnings, he should probably start making new friends too, right?

‘Friends’. Or just friends, whatever.

“Thank you for the help. And, um, if you ever want to drop by for, I don’t know, a beer? You and your- partner?” Diego hazards, cautious, and Klaus once more, maddeningly, laughs.

“My partner?”

“I thought I heard-”

“Oh, Ben?”

“Well Klaus, you and Ben are welcomed whenever for a beer, or to watch a game or something.”

“You don’t have a TV. But we’ll keep in touch?” 

“Sure.” It feels like a rejection, and maybe it is. Diego smiles pleasantly then closes the door after Klaus is gone, turning to look at the boxes. He has zero energy to take on that particular task, so he chooses to go back to sleep instead. He has patrol in the evening, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “Miss Connors is stress-baking again.”
>> 
>> “Hmm?” Diego looks at him with raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips and Klaus can’t help himself from smiling. Doe-eyes, those lips - definitely something Klaus has thought about since their little elevator meeting.
>> 
>> “Miss Connors. Has the apartment right underneath us. She’s the one with rollers in her hair? Well, you’ll definitely meet her, she’s _a character_. Her ex-husband calls her every couple of months to tell her that he still hasn’t died, and whenever that happens she starts these intense, night-long baking marathons. She sure can’t eat all she bakes so she drops by and shares some of the good stuff. Would you like me to ask her to add you to her list? Her choux pastry is exquisite!”
>> 
>> “Oh no, I’m not big on sweets.” He unfolds his legs, patting his abs. “These babies are made with sweat, not sweets.” 
>> 
>> “I mean, I can bake, but it’s usually for others.”
>> 
>> “You _bake?”_
>> 
>> Klaus has never baked. Klaus had _gotten baked_ , on so many occasions that his high-sona has almost permeated into his day-to-day personality, but baking honest to god cookies and shit? Never.

Klaus takes one graceful step over one of his favorite skirts on his way to the mirror, side-stepping to avoid a few other crumpled items of clothing that were laying on the floor. He was going out, finally decided on the right outfit - it was more of a leather pants day, it was just the top bit that really took its time to fall into place - so it was time for make-up. Ben’s giving him occasional glances from behind his book like he always does, but Klaus knows by now what his body says even when he isn’t speaking. Ben isn’t happy. 

“This place is a pigsty, Klaus.”

Klaus turns, taking in the right old mess that was his apartment. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly clean, it looked more- lived in. It certainly had character - maybe not a  _ good _ character, but definitely showed personality. He didn’t mind it.

“Well, get cleaning if it bothers you so much.”

He can almost hear the eye-roll.

“It’s  _ your _ mess. And I can’t.” To make a point, Ben pushes his hand out and through the wall beside him.

Right. As if that can stop him. Klaus takes a deep inhale, trying to focus. He’s gotten the hang of it, so just a couple of seconds later, Ben groans.

“Come on, really?”

Ben’s still there, except this time he’s corporeal - or as much as he can be, anyway. Manifesting him is a thing that Klaus can apparently do now, and yeah, he isn’t above using it for petty reasons.

“I’m not cleaning your shit, Klaus. That’s all I’ve been doing for over a decade. I’m sick of it”

“Yeah but that was all metaphorical, this is real!”

“Fuck off.”

“I plan to, yes. Better make this place presentable, I might bring a  _ gentleman caller _ later on; we wouldn’t want to look uncivilized, would we?”

Klaus couldn’t give any less of a fuck about what the people he brought to his place thought - about the mess or about him, really. They didn’t care either, always focused on getting what they came for, then leaving right after. 

Ben however, he has a lot of things to say about that. He doesn’t; he’s mastered the art of fighting with Klaus, of using actions instead of words that can be - and usually are - easily ignored. So Ben, clearly pissed off about more than just the mess, gets up, walks to the dresser and pulls out one of Klaus’ shirts. He isn’t even looking at what he’s doing, keeping this intense eye contact with Klaus that neither of them breaks, not even when the shirt lands on the floor, in one of the few spots that isn’t currently littered with clothes. Klaus looks down at it, then back up at Ben.  _ So? _ He seems to say. So Ben rests his arm on a shelf, sweeping everything off while still keeping the unbroken eye contact.

“Right,” says Klaus slowly, “so you’re pulling your haunting act on me now? Are you serious?”

“Just pick up your shit, Klaus. For once in your life, pick up after yourself.”

“It’s not technically just my mess--”

“Klaus!”

He startles at the yell. 

“Wow; catty! Fine, fine. Just calm your ghost-tits.”

Some time and a lot of whining later, the floor is clean. The dresser is not, but magic happens once Klaus slides the door shut. There, presentable - just like him; the overflowing mess barely contained on the inside, neatly concealed.

“Well, now that I’ve basically been through my entire wardrobe, do you think this top really says  _ ‘I’m here for a respectable night out with a willing, similarly-minded gentleman’  _ or should I go for the red sequined number?”

“Don’t.”

It’s all Ben says, without looking up from the pages of his book. Klaus is the one to roll his eyes this time.

“Killjoy.”

“Idiot.”

“Ghost-boy.”

“How is that even an insult? It’s accurate.”

“Most insults are.”

“Really, Klaus. Don’t do it.”

“You say that every time. You’re no fun.”

“Like it’s ‘fun’ you’re really after.”

“I mean… yeah? The fact that it’s shutting out the horde of screaming dead people in my head is an added bonus.”

“We could try working on your powers some more, you know you’re making progress at controlling them.”

“I’m gonna have to say ‘no’ to that, _ ghost boy. _ Why work when I can have fun, and, you know. Not work?”

“Because you’re killing yourself with all this shit.”

“Benny-boy, we both know that I have a short shelf-life. Unlike you, it seems. I’m not going to be here for long anyway, I might as well have fun while I’m at it.”

“Fuck, Klaus, don’t talk like that. Do you even know how fucked up that is?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Klaus waves Ben off as he’s applying his eyeliner in sure strokes. He needs to change the conversation. “Am I pretty now?” He bats his eyelashes at Ben, who sighs in annoyance.

“I don’t know how you want me to answer that.”

“With an enthusiastic ‘yes’?” 

Klaus takes one last look in the mirror, pleased with his efforts. He slinks back onto the bed, pulling a joint from the nightstand and lighting up.

“Want some?” He offers, giggling. Ben shuffles to the other end of the bed, ignoring Klaus, and they both know he’s so over his bullshit. Through the curls of white smoke, Klaus watches him eventually set his book on the covers. 

“Do you have to start now?”

“It’s my pre-party ritual.”

“Yeah, I’m off.” Says Ben, getting up, and Klaus is suddenly peeved. He takes a deep breath, focuses intently, and… Ben’s still there. Klaus brought him back once; he will again, even if it’s petty and selfish. 

Well. It usually is.

“Fuck you, Klaus. Stop this.”

“Come on, you always said you wanted to be a real boy!”

“Manifesting me doesn’t make me real, asshole.”

“It kinda does though. For example, you’re real enough for-” Klaus abandons the joint in the full ashtray, jumps to his feet and is right by Ben’s side in two long strides, digging his fingers in Ben’s ribcage.

“Stop it!”

He doesn’t stop, though. He’s angry, angrier than he lets on. He tickles Ben, crowding him against the wall, until he’s a cry-laughing, begging mess. Once he takes his hands away, Ben slumps against the wall, catching his breath.

“Fuck-- You know I hate that.”

“Liar. You always complained you missed the human touch.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Asshole.” And he fizzles out in blue pinpricks of light.

Klaus goes back to bed, grabs the joint and lights it again. He needs to do this. He wants to, sure, but mostly he needs to. Ben’s right, Klaus knows it. He’s often right. But now he wants too much, way more than Klaus is willing to give, and he’s getting sick of it. Now that he can manifest Ben, more and more spirits seem to flock to him. Some keep their cautious distance, others yell louder, emboldened. And with Ben’s recent discovery that he can actually possess Klaus, he’s been even more insistent that he should work on controlling his powers.

He almost laughs at the word, ‘powers’; as if they make him in any way powerful. He was always going to be a fuckup, but with this? He never stood a chance at a normal life, whatever ‘normal’ was. He’s decided long ago that he won’t stick around for long, and the thought that he can always exit on his own terms had soothed him, made him finally free. And sure, it was a fucked up way to see life, but if that’s what kept him going? Fair game. 

Klaus takes one last look in the mirror before going out. 

Ben’s still gone when Klaus spills back into the apartment early in the morning, dragging along a handsome guy who had both provided him with happy little pills, and made the mistake to ask ‘how much’ as he was eyeing him up and down. Klaus would have fucked him for free, but hey, once that was on the table? Why not. 

He’s riding the guy - Adam? Alan? Whatever - giving the guy his money’s worth, but the guy just won’t come. It feels like they’ve been at it for hours, and Klaus is beginning to get chafed. He’s made the mistake to come a while back and he’s now slowly starting to lose interest. But he’s nothing if not dedicated - to this, at least.   
  
“Switch?” He offers, hoping that if the guy rails him into the mattress, maybe he’ll finally come. And then go. But no, he says he’s fine like that, and - again - that he’s close. He’s not, Klaus can tell, the guy can also tell but he stubbornly won’t let up. At least he’s getting some exercise out of it, Klaus thinks, when he gets an idea.

“Want to come on my face?” He pairs the question with what he hopes is a sultry look, and finally the guy agrees. 

The guy comes across Klaus’ face and hair, then gives a hesitant thanks and immediately starts to get dressed. He’s leaving some bills on the nightstand, which frankly surprises Klaus, and then he’s off. 

Klaus takes a quick shower, washing the come from his hair and his skin, trying to scrub the night off himself. He stretches across his bed knowing that, come morning, he’ll feel more of the soreness that he’s currently just guessing, and he’s trying not to acknowledge the fact that the night ended on some sort of a low note. At least he was still sufficiently high for the screaming to be gone, and that’s what it was all about, really. Silence with a side of orgasm; wasn’t life grand?

Klaus isn’t sure why he went out that afternoon - he told himself it was to get food, but he wasn’t hungry, he realized after downing the first cup of coffee. He never knows what to do with  _ time _ \- except to get high - so he heads back to his apartment. 

As he’s stepping back into the building, he sees the elevator doors begin to close so he starts to run, arm outstretched, trying to get the doors to open back up. That elevator was a mystery if anything, so if today was the day it decided to finally work, Klaus wasn’t going to let the occasion pass.

The doors open to show a pile of boxes, guarded by a gruff-looking guy with dark eyes and a scar slicing white above his right ear. Klaus looks at him, he openly looks because he can see he’s studied too. The guy is dressed all in black, doing a poor job at hiding a well-sculpted body underneath his plain turtleneck, and has a vaguely dangerous air about him. Despite all that, despite the circles under his eyes, he looked- kind? Definitely out of place in that neighborhood. 

When the elevator stops working, like it always does, Klaus offers to help him carry the boxes upstairs. Not entirely disinterested, surely, he saw how the guy - Diego - eyed him. He talks all the way up to their floor - he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, he just opens his mouth and stuff pours out - but he still turns to look at Diego as often as he can. As soon as he reaches his apartment, a mirror image of his own; Klaus settles in the middle of the living room, because there was something there - someone - that instantly called for him. A middle-aged man was standing in a corner, looking nowhere in particular and mumbling to Klaus, then to himself, uncaring and possibly unaware that there’s a huge chunk of his head missing. Klaus freezes the instant he understands. It never gets any easier, seeing the dead, not even after all these years, not even after all he’s seen. 

Klaus has felt him before, through the walls, but the guy never tried to approach him. He was stuck there, repeating _ ‘I’ll get it, you know I’m good for it. I’ll get it, I’ll-’  _ The man doesn’t acknowledge either of them, and as soon as Klaus is satisfied that he’s not going to be any trouble, he turns on his heels to leave.

And then Diego asks him to drop by, which sounds fantastic, but Klaus is too tired and too sober to make plans. He goes back to his apartment, strips to his underwear and falls face-first into his bed. 

  
  


When he wakes up, Ben’s there, looking out the window.

“Was that worth it?”

_ Not really, _ Klaus thinks, but he would never give Ben the satisfaction.

_ “So _ worth it.” He lies. “You should try it sometimes.”

Ben makes a disgusted face and sits on the bed beside him.

“Do you want to work on manifesting me? Or maybe I could possess you again, if you let me.”

“No.”

“Klaus. If you can do this, who knows what else you can do. What if you were able to keep the ghosts away even when you’re sober, wouldn’t that be worth it?”

“Yeah, but then I’d be  _ sober.” _

“That’s not a bad thing, though.”

“Sure, whatever.” 

Ben sighs, shaking his head as he’s opening his book again. He’s been so moody lately. So insistent, so demanding. Klaus hates it.

  
  


Klaus is on the rooftop terrace - alone. Though not through any of his efforts, and god knows there’s been a lot of those in the past couple of days; there’s just no spirit there. Sure, there’s the girl on the sidewalk below, looking up, but she’s far enough not to bother him. It may be his misery that, for the first time in his life, keeps all the other shit down to a whisper. It doesn’t really matter; he’s alone and that’s all he wants. 

The railing on the edge of the terrace had been put there after the girl jumped, and Klaus finds that hilarious. As if a shitty railing can stop anyone who’s really set to do it. But it suits him just then, when he’s letting the cold metal dig into his chest, his legs dangling under it and off the roof. He’s safe. In the smallest, most contained ways, he’s safe. 

He tosses the roach over the railing, then settles back, lost in his head.

The girl below is stuck.

She’s stuck, and her present is the past.

But that's not how it goes; the past's in the past, because that's where it lives. The present isn't here for long, anyway.

Klaus isn't just high, he's also poetic.

In his way.

Some days he thinks to write this down, the meandering vines of his thoughts, but he knows he'll laugh at them once he's sober.

He doesn't like being sober.

Ben does. Ben likes it when Klaus is sober, but Ben doesn't understand.

Klaus wishes he didn't either.

He doesn't find himself there often, in the dark, against the cold marble and behind that heavy door; but everytime that he does, he feels trapped in as he did those times. He can't get out of his head, out of his itching skin. He can't get away.

He's fine now, the heavy buzz sloshing in his brain doing its job of keeping the chaos down. They're not gone, not from this alone, but it's quiet.

He's fine now, but he often isn't.

Pain helps with the other weight, the one keeping him locked inside. What a revelation that was, to find himself undone with a fucking belt.

Reginald used to threaten him with a belt. He still remembers the sharp smell of leather, that loop tightly wrapped around his fist, and Klaus' terror at the anticipated blow that never came - not by belt though. Never the belt.

Funny, he welcomes that now.

Now, it helps. Now it sets him free.

Blow by blow, he's plucked from his head. He's lifted up, in a world where only the edge of pain exists, but even that disappears slowly. It's not subspace, nothing so quaint, so fuzzy or wonderful. To a certain extent, it's the ecstasy brought on by self-punishment. Self-flagellation without the penance. Without the purification.

It makes sense in his mind.

The last guy he did that with left mid-scene when he realized what Klaus was doing. Fair enough.

Many before him didn't care, and were content to take their own cut out of that pain; Klaus preferred that. It was an honest transaction and his skin was the currency. No pretenses. No bullshit. Everyone got what they were seeking.

Klaus got his temporary freedom from that darkness.

The other guys- they didn't matter anyways. It didn't matter what they got out of it as long as they did it right.

Ben's suddenly there, not showing himself. Ben worries.

Klaus wishes he wasn't doing this to Ben. He's kept him back from the start; all the families they changed? Klaus' fault; all his fault. Ben fell so easily in the illusion of family, of belonging, and every time, Klaus fucked that up one way or another.

Fuck; bad vibe.

Okay, he’s okay.

(He’s really not.)

Ben wants him to be okay. Ben wants him to work on his powers.

Ben doesn't understand.

The first time he was dragged back from the mausoleum, Ben was there, in his room. Worried.

He's made Ben worry so often.

Klaus never told him what Reginald did. And Reginald never did any of that to Ben. So if it was a home that Ben needed, then Klaus would do his best to not fuck it up again for him.

But now Ben wants him to train again. Because he doesn't--

Klaus' throat closes up and he lets his eyes fall shut. The buzz is sharper now, behind his eyelids, but it's doing nothing for the anger, the panic that's settling in Klaus' chest. 

He’s high and he’s alright.

He’s not though; not really, but maybe if he tells himself often enough, he’ll believe it.

Maybe he will be, one day. Realistically though- 

He probably won’t.

Ben says that he has to try. Ben says a lot of things.

A lot of things that he doesn’t understand.

Ben wants a lot.

A lot. Too much. 

And whenever Klaus does it, whenever he tries to control the spirits, he does it for Ben.

But Ben, he doesn’t know what he’s asking. He just wants Klaus to be alright.

Klaus wants to be alright too. 

What he doesn’t want, however, is to go through any of that shit again. It should be understandable. Ben would understand.

If he knew. 

Deep breath. Klaus is trying to clear his thoughts when he hears a clank and a scratchy creak and the door to the terrace opens.

Diego. 

It should be jarring, the way his mind switches gears, but everything else vanishes as Klaus smiles and beckons Diego over. The previous slurriness in his thoughts and on his tongue is gone when he speaks, and so is Ben. Klaus still feels like he’s vapor when he moves.

“Wow, hi. No one ever comes up here.”

“Hey. Really?” Diego approaches the railing, grabbing it to look down, and for a second Klaus wonders if he saw the girl below. He can’t have - he doesn’t, turning to look at Klaus. “Well, the view ain’t much.”

“True. Maybe it’s also the bad juju of the girl that jumped that keeps people away.”

“Oh, there’s bad juju?” Diego sits by him, resting his back on the railing, gathering his knees up.

“Nah, it’s fine.” It was. Sort of. “Everything okay?”

“Just getting some air. Why, is everything okay with you?”

Klaus smiles and shrugs. 

“As fine as you can be. You know.”

"Problems with,” Diego seems to be thinking for a second. “Ben?”

“Hah. Well. He  _ has _ been… a lot, lately.”

It feels odd how Diego just nods, and how it makes Klaus feel so at ease. It’s strangely comfortable. It’s nice.

“But it’s fine,” Klaus adds. It  _ was _ fine, in as much as his ongoing circus of a life could be called fine.

“Right.”

Diego doesn’t press further, and Klaus appreciates it. Silence settles comfortably, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the street and some muffled voices traveling from the apartments below. There’s nothing else there, no pretexts; everything is quiet and that’s something Klaus can truly appreciate, maybe more than most. And yet, it’s still him who breaks the silence.

“You seem ‘fine’, too.”

Diego laughs, a small tired laugh, buried in the palms of his hands. He looks away when he speaks. 

“It’s an anniversary. My father.”

The last of the buzz dies down as soon as Klaus processes the words. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, he was an asshole.”

“We have this much in common. Eight years this May. It was Ben who reminded me; I think my brain was actively trying to protect me by forgetting that he ever existed.” It was probably that, but the fact that he was high off his tits for most of the month of May didn’t help his memory either.

“Five years.” Diego sighed, elbows digging into his knees. “Mom called me. I-” He sighs. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to unload this on you.”

“Nah, get it out. Supposedly it’s healthier this way.” Ben said that a lot. Ben is often right. 

“I haven’t been home in a while. Can’t bear to be there again. I know mom - Grace - misses me, that’s why I call her every few days and we catch up, but I can’t go back there. And I saw someone the other night, someone I haven’t thought of in so long, and it made it even worse when she called to remind me of the date. I know she needs me, but that place; it’s tainted now. I don’t know why Grace doesn’t want to move. I’m sorry, whenever I think of dad, so much shit spills out; I can’t seem to stop.”

“It’s fine. I haven’t been to that place -  _ home _ ,” he says, and spite drips off the word, “in over a decade either. I left and moved as far away as possible, I even avoid that part of town now. I admit I sometimes want to walk by to see if it burned down like I keep hoping it would, but I’d rather forget what it looks like.” 

Klaus remembers the first time they saw the mansion; both he and Ben felt like they were dreaming. Big house. Staff. It felt like a dream precisely until the next morning. During dinner, Reginald asked Klaus about his powers - he’s heard the reports from the previous former foster parents, apparently - and then asked Ben if he had any powers of his own. It was the first time someone actually listened to Klaus, when they took him seriously. When they were interested. They cared not  _ despite _ all that shit, but  _ because _ of it. It was new to Klaus, to feel like he was finally getting positive attention, so when Reginald called him in his office the next day, before breakfast, Klaus got there five minutes early.

Reginald cared - but definitely too much. He had a whole schedule set up for Klaus and started his ‘sessions’ immediately after breakfast. Klaus wanted to explore, to talk to Ben and to change first impressions and predictions, because Reginald had put them in separate rooms, at the opposite ends of a corridor and they hadn’t had a chance to talk since after dinner. Ben was set up with a private tutor, and Klaus immediately became Sir Reginald’s singular focus of study.

Sir took him to his lab the first few times, but because Klaus was terrified when forced to face the ghosts, he decided to lock him in the family mausoleum until he got some sort of control over the spirits. He found out that his precision instruments were useless when Klaus was screaming and thrashing, so he drugged him up - only to render his powers useless. That was a revelation to Klaus, who did learn how to shut the spirits up, but not in the way that Sir hoped. After the many hours spent in there, Klaus discovered that his efforts could never compare to the results that drugs got him. He started to seek the same kind of peace over and over again but in dark alleys, finally getting the silence he needed, with the added bonus of severely disappointing Sir in the process. 

The first time Sir opened the heavy mausoleum doors to find Klaus laughing instead of screaming, he’d gotten a proud look on his face that Klaus had never seen directed at him - never until that moment and certainly never since. The second he saw Klaus’ pupils and the way he moved, he understood, and Klaus got a backhand so strong it almost sobered him back up. Since then, Reginald took to the cane - the belt remaining just a promise, a threat for when he’ll be in a more appropriate place to dispense his punishment. The cane remained memorable after the first time Reginald found a boy in his bed - Klaus was beaten so badly that he couldn’t sleep comfortably for days. But instead of ‘curing him of his urges’, it only made him seek them further. 

That house was haunted for Klaus, and not in the way he’d gotten used to. 

“I’m sure your mom understands.” Klaus feels like he has to say something, something nice and supportive, and that seemed like something a mother would feel. Not that he’d know.

“Yeah.”

Silence settles over them slowly, and they both drift inside their own heads for a while. Suddenly, with a deep inhale, Klaus straightens up.

“Miss Connors is stress-baking again.”

“Hmm?” Diego looks at him with raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips and Klaus can’t help himself from smiling. Doe-eyes, those lips - definitely something Klaus has thought about since their little elevator meeting.

“Miss Connors. Has the apartment right underneath us. She’s the one with rollers in her hair? Well, you’ll definitely meet her, she’s a  _ character. _ Her ex-husband calls her every couple of months to tell her that he still hasn’t died, and whenever that happens she starts these intense, night-long baking marathons. She sure can’t eat all she bakes so she drops by and shares some of the good stuff. Would you like me to ask her to add you to her list? Her choux pastry is exquisite!”

“Oh no, I’m not big on sweets.” He unfolds his legs, patting his abs. “These babies are made with sweat, not sweets.” 

It’s… Klaus unconsciously sucks his lower lip in his mouth for a second before he catches himself. It’s endearing how serious and proud Diego is. How he feels the need to bring attention to his physique as if it wasn’t the first thing Klaus noticed about him.

And then he adds an additional scrumptious detail-

“I mean, I can bake, but it’s usually for others.”

“You  _ bake?” _

Klaus has never baked. Klaus had  _ gotten baked,  _ on so many occasions that his high-sona has almost permeated into his day-to-day personality, but baking honest to god cookies and shit? Never.

“I haven’t, really, since I left home. I used to spend a lot of time in the kitchen as a kid, doing my homework while mom cooked. She often asked for my help, and a couple of things must have rubbed off on me.” Klaus would also like to get on that rubbing action, he thinks. “I’ve baked her a couple of birthday cakes as a surprise.”

“And? Was she surprised?” Klaus sure was. Criminally handsome Diego knew his way around the kitchen. 

“Yeah.” Diego laughs, and it’s genuine and gentle. “The first time, I overestimated the “pinch” of salt and it was truly surprising, to all of us. But I’ve gotten better.” He’s nodding, he’s proud. 

Klaus is also proud of him. Genuinely so. And maybe a little bit smitten too.

“Well I can’t cook for shit. I mean, I can burn some toast to near-palatable levels, but yeah. I never got to spend much time in kitchens.”

“It’s a skill, man,” Diego says, with so much conviction. “It’s a skill that everyone should have. It’s basic stuff, feeding yourself. I can teach you some basics if you want. You know, cheap, easy, and healthy.”

“I’m not big on the healthy part but the other two sound fantastic. Sure, anytime.”

“It’s gotten chilly, want to head down? Do you want to go by Miss Connors’ first?”

“No, we must not disturb the process. She comes to us, never the other way around. It would be too presumptuous. You know, I keep hoping that one day she’ll bring by a celebratory cake that the fucker’s finally dead. He used to beat her, you know?” Klaus doesn’t miss how Diego bristles at the words. The words fly out of his mouth before he can stop his idiot brain.

“Did your father…”

“No. Never. He was ruthless with words, though.”

“Reginald was partial to the cane.” He’s not high anymore, but his head fills with cotton when those words are out. He’s never said it out loud, and it somehow sounds worse like that. “Ben doesn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. Fucker’s dead. Not sure how Hell let him in, maybe they were short on staff or something. But-” Klaus ends on a forced chirpy tone. “I’ve given him way too much of my thoughts. Let’s head back. Wanna take the elevator?” 

Diego laughs. They take the stairs.

  
  
  


He ignores Ben for the rest of the evening, fixing himself some ramen and pondering whether to go out again. His mind settles on Diego though, and the strange feeling that he’s made a connection. A genuine connection. But his brain, the filthy fucking thing, pushes all that to the side and remains skin deep, focusing on how the guy was so damn  _ handsome. _ No matter how he thought about it - and he did think about it quite a bit - the only conclusion he got to was that the guy was, simply put,  _ handsome. _ Klaus could have done a lot with that, quite a lot. I mean, those lips. Plush and  _ ungh.  _ He groans, and his hand presses against his interested dick.

"Aw man." Ben throws his hands up and blips out from where he was sitting on the window sill.

“No, don’t go!” Klaus cries. “Free show and everything.” He ends up talking to the empty air. Fine, better. He could get really freaky then.

Well, not really, since he’s somehow managed to lose all his toys, inexplicably - well, drugs; that would definitely explain it - so he had to make do with what he had. Two hands, a very graphic imagination and yup, he checks in the nightstand, some lube too.

He settles back against the covers, pushing the briefs off and to the floor, and he closes his eyes. 

There’s screaming. Wailing, there’s whispers of his name and Klaus balls his hands in fists, trying to block them away. This, this is precisely where the hard drugs usually come in handy. Fuck. He breathes in, breathes out, focuses, and maybe that’s why the screams are getting duller. It’s either that or the noises that are coming, muffled, from the other side of the wall, taking over all the real-estate in Klaus’ brain.

Groans. Quick, sharp exhales so loud that Klaus can hear them. Diego’s either doing the exact same thing that Klaus was planning to do, or, more realistically, he’s working out. And- that body. Klaus takes a deep breath, shaking his head. A real tragedy that a guy looking like  _ that _ decided to hide all of it under fucking turtlenecks. Klaus chooses to imagine that he’s doing his workout in just those - presumably very functional - leather pants, doing crunches while his muscles swell and shine with sweat. 

That was a good image, Klaus wraps his palm around his hardening cock, biting his lip. Those arms, tensing as he pins Klaus to the door - no, to the wall right by the mirror, that was better. And those lips, god, those plush lips, stretched snugly around his dick as Diego peers up at him. A wave of warmth shoots from his belly to his thighs, and he’s stroking himself fast now. Diego’s not all that experienced, Klaus decides, the bold shyness of his movements more appealing than they had any right to be. He groans, and his groan is echoed from the other side of the wall in an unintended feedback loop.

Diego’s kissing him now, hands buried in Klaus’ hair, then he flips him around, making him face the mirror. Klaus quickly uncaps the lube, trying to focus on not losing momentum, and coats his fingers. He’d have preferred a toy, sure, but fingers will do just fine. He pushes one in, opening his eyes, letting the shudder run through him. He works the second finger in quickly, closing his eyes and settling back on the images in his mind - Diego, bending him over in front of the mirror, hands braced on either side of it while he adjusts to the push of Diego’s cock. Fuck. It’s going to be a quick one. Klaus licks his palm before grabbing his cock again, squeezing a bit tighter, moving a bit faster.

And Diego - god, there are the groans again, Klaus moans in turn - he fucks him hard, just right, pulling his hips back, angling to nail his prostate. God, he’s close; and he sees Diego in the mirror, those big brown eyes half-lidded, mouth half-open as he snaps his hips like he’s close, too. His own fingers pump in and out, trying to match the rhythm in his head. Klaus comes way before his fantasy reaches any sort of a high-point, one hand reaching back to push against the headboard for some sort of contact. He’s letting the afterglow wash over him and he can hear Diego still. Impressive stamina, Klaus thinks, yawning before he’s even had enough time to come down. 

He wipes himself off with a corner of the sheet that he then pushes off the bed, and rolls on his stomach and lets the post-orgasmic haze carry him to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Ben was fine with being a ghost. He was fine with most things, mostly because he learned long ago that he didn’t really have much of a choice. He was tethered to Klaus, which was far from an easy way to go through life - or death - but Ben? He was okay with it.
>> 
>> He was okay with it because Klaus; he was his brother. His big brother, the one who always looked after him since they were kids, the one who brought him back from the darkness that night. His love for Klaus was immovable, and he gladly sat by his side ever since, doing his best to take care of him as best he could. 

Ben was fine with being a ghost. He was fine with most things, mostly because he learned long ago that he didn’t really have much of a choice. He was tethered to Klaus, which was far from an easy way to go through life - or death - but Ben? He was okay with it.

He was okay with it because Klaus; he was his brother. His big brother, the one who always looked after him since they were kids, the one who brought him back from the darkness that night. His love for Klaus was immovable, and he gladly sat by his side ever since, doing his best to take care of him as best he could. 

Their life had not been easy to begin with, and it only got more difficult once Ben died. Klaus really threw himself into drugs just as Ben was struggling to make sense of everything. In the beginning, Ben’s presence managed to attract even more spirits around Klaus, and that, along with the grief, was what sent Klaus down into that spiral. Klaus’ life was like an endless carnival ride, ever changing, ever challenging, and he’d long decided to just roll with it. 

For Ben though, things stopped changing long ago. He found his rhythm, accepted his limitations - of which there were many - and did all he could to be there for his brother. 

Until recently, at least. At first there was that night, in an alley, when a guy beat up Klaus so viciously that he was barely hanging on by a thread. Ben couldn’t understand it; why Klaus got himself in those situations, but he was a mischievous ball of anger with no self-preservation instincts that lashed out and took no shit. That night, included. It would have been easier for him to not engage, to back down, and yet - he pressed on. He challenged, insulted, fought the drunk fucker. He didn’t stand a chance against the mountain-sized man, but he didn’t stop running his mouth even when he was on the ground, getting stomped by steel-toed boots. And maybe it was sheer stubbornness, maybe it was pure rage that made Klaus focus all his energy into pretty much willing Ben back into a corporeal form. It was a surprise for them both, as well as for the guy who was promptly knocked out cold by Ben.

That, and the possession. That was  _ very _ new. Ben had first done that in a fit of anger, when they had gotten into another one of their stupid arguments that always devolved into their ghostly version of slap-fights. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he charged at Klaus but somehow he ended up  _ inside _ his body. He was there for a couple of seconds only, overwhelmed into near-catatonia by the overpowering assault on his senses. He could smell, he could touch and feel, the air had a temperature; it was mad, it was happening all at once, when on the background of all that he began to sense Klaus. 

Klaus hated the experience, feeling like he’d been pushed back, powerless, in a corner of his body. 

They’ve only done it once since, still for a couple of minutes only, and it was just as heady as the first time. Ben wanted to do something, anything at all, but was again shocked into stillness. But ever since he started to feel  _ life _ again, it was difficult to think of anything else. 

Klaus was adamantly against it. 

Ben understood the powerlessness all too well, knowing what it meant to Klaus to be in control, especially of his body. So they found themselves at a stalemate.

"Focus.”

"Easy for you to say."

It wasn't.

"No, it's not. You’re just lazy. You managed to manifest me by chance, imagine what you could do if you actually _ tried.” _

“Oh my god, did you just hear the words that came out of your mouth? How dare you speak to me like that.”

The shred of cooperation in Klaus had visibly burned out and Ben knew it was pointless to argue from that point on. He managed to get to Klaus like nobody ever did - not that anyone really tried, or that Klaus ever let anyone do it. 

It was hard to map out exactly how much of Klaus’ resistance to control his power was out of actual addiction, and how much it was leftover scars from his training. If it could be called training; Ben was sure that, had he actually been brave enough to tell anyone about what Reginald was doing, they’d have been taken away. Or maybe that’s one of the things that stopped him from speaking out; it was hard to tell. Their childhood and youth did not exactly teach them the healthiest ways to process things.

Reginald called it training, and Klaus always said that they went to the lab, but Ben knew better. Or rather, he was suspecting - Klaus never spoke about it. He still rarely spoke of those days; and Klaus spoke a lot. So Ben tries not to mention it either. Those were bad days, ugly days that took their toll on Klaus, sending him hurtling down that path he doesn’t seem to want to leave.

They still tried, though, when Klaus was too tired to fight Ben and there was no fix in sight. He’d give in to Ben’s pleas and try to find a way to deal with the madness in his own head, and sometimes he succeeded in making them quieter. That’s why Ben kept pushing; if there was a way, no matter how unlikely, to keep the ghosts away, they needed to find it. They both knew that the speed Klaus chose to live his life at could only end up in a crash, and the only safe way out was to just stop.

***

Klaus doesn’t usually order takeout but he had a serious case of the munchies, an even worse case of the lazies, and a little spare cash. Ben doesn’t like to think about how Klaus makes his money these days, but he’s seen him try and fail at enough jobs that he was, on some level, happy that he was at least doing something that he loved. Even though it was illegal. And it made Ben wildly uncomfortable. 

A drawing of a burger smiled in an excessively friendly way from the crumpled paper bag that Klaus, like the slob he was, brought to the bedroom. He set the bag on the small table that doubled as a vanity then saw the book he was reading, opened it up to where the takeout flyer was wedged, and started reading. 

And while Klaus completely forgot all about the burger, Ben became hyper-aware of it. He’s had what he can describe as ‘cravings’ before, but it always felt more like pointless jealousy; now, the need was almost palpable.

Fortunately, there was a way he could experience it again - by possessing Klaus. Not that he had any idea what he was doing, but Ben felt motivated enough to try it. He could eat when Klaus manifested him, sure; but his spectral form had no taste buds or nerve endings or whatever it was needed for him to actually  _ feel _ anything; the thing was, he could go through the motions, but he couldn’t taste a damn thing. And the idea of eating that burger occupied more and more of his attention. 

“Come on! Please?”

“No.”

“Come oooon!” 

Ben knew he had the ability to be extremely irritating, and since Klaus flew past his rational pleas and the ones that appealed to emotion, that was his last weapon in his arsenal.

“I really don’t like it, Ben. Why can’t I just manifest you instead?”   
  
“Because it’s not the same? Come on, it’s not like I want to do anything stupid. Or pervy. I just want to eat a burger; come on, Klaus! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a burger?”

“It just- I hate it. And it’s my burger.”

“Well next time get two burgers.”

“I can’t eat two burgers.”

“Well good, then it’s settled.  _ Our _ burger.”

“Communist.”

“Hoarder.”   
  
“How is this hoarding? You know what; fine. But only for as long as it takes you to eat the thing.”

“I also want, like, five minutes afterwards to just enjoy it.”

“Ugh, Ben; really.”

“Come on! Do it for your favorite brother?”

“You’re my only brother.”   
  
“That’s not what our last name says. You’re still  _ my _ favorite though.”

“Flattery will take you nowhere.”

“Well, the burger is here, so I don’t really need to go any-”

“Just- fine, just go ahead.”

Ben is absolutely elated. He shakes his hands, focuses, and lunges for Klaus. Only on the third try does he manage to make it stick, and he feels himself do a smooth slide and lock inside Klaus’ body - an unsettling sensation, sure, but one that he's been absolutely craving for. It’s confusing for the briefest moments, but his mind latches on with thirst. It’s addictive, a word that Ben doesn’t use lightly, and he’s instantly overwhelmed and stumbles to sit down. Everything is brighter, he sees colors he’s sure he hasn’t seen in years; it’s just as vivid as the last time. 

He’s breathing. He’s breathing in, his chest expanding, the air is cold in his nostrils. He’s forgotten all of that, all these little things that he never really thought about when he was alive. Curling his toes feels strange - well, it _ feels, _ and that’s a whole thing in and of itself. The unmistakable smell of takeout reached him, awakening memories of the rare accounts in which they had it. All their meals were calculated, designed even to their needs and served under the judging eyes of Sir Reginald, so eating became a joyless experience. Klaus still kept his attitude towards food, and Ben, well, he never got the opportunity to eat in a while but now? Now he was _ ravenous. _

He’s smiling as he’s unwrapping the vaguely warm bun, taking a few long seconds to decide where the optimal first bite would be, before giving up. It doesn’t really matter, his eyes fall closed as he sinks into the burger, and he swears he can feel all different tastes, separately, as he’s cataloging them mentally. Halfway through, he’s crouching over the table, shoulders hunched and head lowered, trying not to get any sauce on his hands - or Klaus’ clothes, he’d never hear the end of it. 

Ben was dead, he’s pretty sure he’s seen the famed light at the end of the tunnel (and stayed away) and not even  _ that _ filled him with as much awe as that burger has. Especially the pickle. That damned pickle; Ben never really liked them, going so far as to remove them from his food whenever they landed there, but this? This was exquisite, bringing a much-needed kick to the whole experience. 

Suddenly Ben feels like there’s something inside him that’s shifting--

He feels a burning pain in his chest, rising dangerously, then puts a hand to his mouth and burps and wow, he’s forgotten how that feels. He’s giddy and so satisfyingly full, he thinks he’d like to go to sleep - he doesn’t sleep anymore, he doesn’t need it, but he misses it. He has vague memories of the feeling of drifting off to a place that is dark but is nothing like the place he goes to now when he’s not with Klaus. 

For a few seconds, he’s not thinking anything. It’s quiet, and he’s alive, buzzing with content, enjoying the soft feel under his fingertips as he rubs his palms up and down his thighs. He’s missed that, feeling, and how complex it was. It’s all he can focus on, the tactile feedback, when he takes a sharp inhale and he can suddenly hear Klaus. He’s an ever-growing presence inside Ben, inside Klaus’ actual body; Ben’s beginning to get confused at the rapidly blurring edges. 

He’s screaming now; Klaus is screaming and it’s his mouth that makes the sound and it scares Ben, who jumps out of the chair, sending it flying to the ground, and he contorts painfully. Something’s happening; Klaus is scared, he’s angry and he’s trying to get back to the surface. 

Ben feels Klaus push him away with a sickening, violent motion, he’s _ inside _ him and he’s kicking and thrashing in a deeply unsettling way. It’s the ferocity with which Klaus fights back that’s frightful, it’s a side of Klaus that he’s never seen and isn’t fully equipped to process. For a split second Ben thinks he feels it all, Klaus’ overflowing rage, the sharp pain, and all that fear; he feels it burn deep in his lungs even after it’s gone. He’s still stunned by it all when he’s starting to lose control over his limbs, taking a few uncoordinated steps while his own hands nearly pluck him out of Klaus’ skin and it’s such a strange feeling that he instinctively fights back. He’s losing control and he understands that it’s Klaus taking over, and that he should let go; he wants to but can’t. He can feel Klaus in his brain now, bleeding in, and he’s fierce, unrecognizable. His hands lift to his sides and Ben is flickering out. 

The last thing that he’s aware of, right before everything goes dark, is that his legs were moving, tripping over something, the room is toppling over in a dizzying motion and then he’s hitting something that makes everything-- 

_ stop. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had **nine** other chapters written before I could finish writing this one - I find Ben so hard to write, for some reason? ~~Shy boy Ben~~
> 
> Comments are love <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Diego is just preparing to go out on patrol when he hears it - a scream, loud and sudden, an undeniably terrified and terrifying sound that makes him stand up, alert. There’s another and yet another one, cut midway through, then comes a small thud followed by another, louder one. Diego doesn’t think when he runs out, letting his door fall shut behind him before he’s at Klaus’ door, trying to open it. It’s locked, and he’s knocking and calling out for Klaus but there’s no sound from inside. He takes a quick look around before dropping to one knee, taking his lock picking kit from his back pocket, and working to get the door unlocked. It doesn’t take long and he presses the handle, letting himself in. 

Diego is just preparing to go out on patrol when he hears it - a scream, loud and sudden, an undeniably terrified and terrifying sound that makes him stand up, alert. There’s another and yet another one, cut midway through, then comes a small thud followed by another, louder one. Diego doesn’t think when he runs out, letting his door fall shut behind him before he’s at Klaus’ door, trying to open it. It’s locked, and he’s knocking and calling out for Klaus but there’s no sound from inside. He takes a quick look around before dropping to one knee, taking his lock picking kit from his back pocket, and working to get the door unlocked. It doesn’t take long and he presses the handle, letting himself in. 

The noise he heard - the one that came after the screaming, the one that was clearly someone falling and hitting something, came from the bedroom. It takes his brain a second to catch up to the mirror set-up of the apartment before rushing in the right direction. It’s either adrenaline or training, but Diego feels himself slip into a calm and calculated state, slowing down his movements. He pushes the bedroom door so it opens all the way and takes in the room: a chair is knocked over and Klaus is bunched up at weird angles in the space between the bed and the wall, right by the nightstand.

Klaus looks hurt. Klaus is  _ definitely _ hurt, but he’s breathing and looks to be just coming back to it. He blinks, losing his awkward balance as he moves to rub his temples, and he’s looking at Diego with an unfocused, confused look. A thin line of blood is trickling from his nose, pooling above his lips, and when he touches the side of his head, he winces. His fingers are trembling and shining red when he looks at them.

“Are you okay?” Diego asks, crossing the room in a few long steps. 

“Uh-huh.” Klaus still looks confused, eyes unfocused, and barely acknowledging Diego’s presence. All manner of warning signs flash up in Diego’s mind, and he instantly worries about concussions.

He kneels by Klaus, offering his arm so Klaus can use it as leverage to prop himself better against the side of the bed. 

“What happened?”

“I tripped.” Klaus is sure when he speaks, flat but determined. And yet, Diego’s sure that it’s a lie; he’s heard the screaming, the fall. He remembers that little snippet on the terrace, when Klaus said that he and Ben were going through something. He’s heard that lie all too many times to believe it. 

“Did Ben do this to you?” He asks cautiously.

“What?” Klaus laughs, surprised, but it sounds wrong and hollow as he tries to get up but gives up instantly, grabbing at the side of his head. “I just tripped, okay?”

“Shit, Klaus. This is serious. If he’s hitting you, if- You can tell me. You know I have friends in the force. You can get a restraining order, you can press charges.”

Not that it always helps, the insane ones always seem to find a way to get the last word in, regardless of what the law says. Diego would never let that happen, but Klaus is still finding excuses for the asshole, and it really doesn’t surprise Diego. He hates it, sure, but he’s not surprised.

“What are you even talking about? It’s not like that.”

“You know who says that? Domestic abuse victims. Don’t laugh, what the hell? Has he hit you before?”   
  
“No. He’s not hit me in-” He seems to think, an out of place smile on his lips, then gives up on that thought, becoming grim again. “It’s not at all what you think.”

“What? Don’t tell me it was your fault. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? Fuck.”

“Drop it, okay? I really did just trip.” Klaus makes another failed attempt to get to his feet, then settles back down with a huff. Diego’s increasingly worried, any more signs of loss of balance and they might have to end up in the ER. 

“No, I’m not gonna drop it. He could have killed you. God only knows what he’ll do next time. Where is he? Do you know when he’ll be back?”   
  
“For fuck’s sake! Ben hasn’t hit me! Drop it.” His shoulders slump. He does get up this time, shakily, but walks away from the bed, holding a hand to the back of his head. “And he’s gone. I don’t- He’s gone.” He doesn’t say anything else, but he’s clearly distressed.    
  
“Klaus-” 

“Seriously, you got it all wrong. And I don’t need… this, whatever it is. Okay?”

“Okay.” Diego gives in, on the surface at least, but he’s cautious. He knows the circle, he’s fought so hard to break it himself, but if Klaus was stuck in it again-- Diego closes his eyes and his thoughts go back to Quentin, and he wonders, ashamed to not have asked himself sooner, how he was doing. Back then, when they were both kids, before Quentin ran away, Diego never thought to ask him how he was. He never thought to listen. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference, but - what if it had? 

There’s nothing he can do about that now, as much as it eats at him, stripping away a thin layer from his self-righteousness. He can be better now, he can  _ do _ better. He gets up, going to the kitchen to look for a clean towel. When he finds one that his nose confirms to be clean, he hands it to Klaus. 

“Do you want to spend the night at my place? Just this night, and we’ll discuss next steps in the morning.”

Klaus takes the towel, pressing it to the side of his head with a small grimace. He looks tired, defeated when he grabs one of Diego’s hands, making him startle at the touch. “I.  _ Tripped. _ Please, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Fine. Diego doesn’t like it, he absolutely feels like there’s more than Klaus lets up - he’s confused, maybe a little bit scared too but there’s something more there, something he’s definitely not saying. 

“Fine. Did you have anything to eat today?”

“Yeah,” Klaus says, dismissively, then rolls his eyes. “Yes, I did. I’m fine.”

“Let’s watch something then? And let me look at that, head wounds are dangerous. You could have a concussion. Where’s your first aid kit?”

Klaus stares at him blankly. “Um.”

“I’ll be right back.”

When Diego returns with his own first aid kit, because he’s a functioning adult and he has one, Klaus is curled sideways against the couch cushions, chin on his knees, resting his head on the towel. He allows Diego to take a look, though there’s not much he can do since the bleeding has stopped. 

“Are you up for taking a shower? You should probably clean the wound.”

Klaus reluctantly agrees, and Diego waits for him on the other side of the door, listening for any noises that would indicate if Klaus wasn’t feeling okay. 

The water hisses and Diego becomes sharply aware of his surroundings. He’s next door. Waiting for his neighbor to come out of the shower. He jumped to action without giving it a second thought, but how could he not intervene? It’s what he did. He absentmindedly rubs at his wrist, thinking that he should probably confront Ben. He could maybe even get some of his old buddies from the academy to join him and firmly and politely show the guy who he’d have to deal with if he laid another finger on Klaus. 

Klaus emerges from the bathroom not ten minutes later, a tiny towel wrapped around his waist and a giant one around his head. He looks oddly refreshed and significantly calmer, and it’s as if a good part of his chaotic aura has been restored.

Diego probably shouldn’t stare the way he does, he’s vaguely aware of societal conventions, but he realizes too late that he was doing it. By that time, Klaus had definitely read the look in his eye, responding with a bashful smile and a very slow walk back to the couch. 

Though he feels like it’s against his best interests, Diego finds himself asking, “Clothes?”

“I prefer to air-dry.”

“Right. But you  _ have _ towels.”   
  
“I do, but- With this princess skin? Nah, air drying is the way to go.”

Diego eventually shrugs. “Let me see your head.”

Diego sits on the couch close enough that he can get a good look, but not too close - because he’s suddenly aware that there’s such a thing as ‘too close’ as he sits by Klaus’ still damp torso. The cut seems shallow when he tips Klaus’ head to get a better look. There’s not much that he can do, so he just looks. Klaus has his eyes closed, a small curl to his lips as he swallows slowly and Diego just watches his neck roll with it. Yeah, he’s pretty, all sharp lines and gentle curves in his cheeks, his nose, his lips; Diego takes his hands away and settles back against the cushions, just a little bit buzzing with  _ something.  _

They have a TV, though it’s obviously a left-over from some previous tenant, and Diego settles on a black and white movie that Klaus promptly spoils in its entirety when he fawns over what an amazing piece of cinema it was. Diego’s not big on movies, so he mostly enjoys what he can only call ‘the Klaus experience’. Klaus is excited about seemingly everything, he talks with his whole body and makes the weirdest and most inappropriate connections that Diego struggles to catch up with. 

Diego knows, though. He knows what’s underneath all that. He remembers that glint into the raw side of Klaus he’s seen on the terrace, how he actually was behind all that chaotic shine. He’s found it… a  _ challenge _ to not think about Klaus since that night. There was something magnetic about the guy, something enthralling that burrowed its way in Diego’s mind.

When the movie ends, Diego asks for some tea. He’s stalling, he tells himself. Klaus shouldn’t be alone, he probably shouldn’t fall asleep, in case he has a concussion. It’s all lies; Diego doesn’t particularly like tea and he knows that the whole no sleep after a concussion is a myth, but he not only doesn’t want to leave, he actively wants to  _ stay. _

He zaps until he finds some nature documentary about underwater life and he settles on that when Klaus hands him a scorching mug of tea. Peppermint, if his nose is right - and it always is - and even though he despises peppermint he keeps that information to himself. 

Diego tries his best with that spicy hot water - why did he ask for no sugar, it was disgusting - he sets the mug on the floor and out of reach. Klaus finishes his and takes both cups to the sink, slumping back to the couch way closer to Diego than he’s been sat before.

The documentary is interesting. Or at least it looks interesting, Diego tries to focus on the words and maybe make some conversation because the air has suddenly become heavier. 

“There’s this joke I heard about sea anemones,” he starts and Klaus turns to him, slowly. He’s clearly not listening to him, but there’s something in his eyes. Diego stops talking.

With no warning, Klaus straddles him, the towel barely hanging around his waist and Diego doesn’t know how to react. He thinks it’s panic at first, before he understands the feelings better. It’s not panic, it’s need, it’s curiosity, it’s want. Neither of them makes a move for the longest time, and Klaus softly looks at him through heavy eyelids, blinking slowly with the smallest tilt to his head. He doesn’t speak, he’s just looking, parting his lips as he stares at Diego’s mouth. As if through a dream, Klaus leans in and presses his lips to Diego’s. Soft, almost chaste. Slow. Diego burns under his touch with such a disproportionate reaction that it makes him ache all over.

Klaus smiles as he breaks away, and there’s something behind his eyes, green overtaken by the black of his blown-up pupils, something that Diego can’t quite place but knows. It doesn’t register, his senses acutely aware of the weight on his lap, of Klaus’ palms resting on his chest.

It’s been a while since he’s been with a guy, and Diego’s buzzing just a bit at the realization. It’s been a while, but it’s just as electric as ever, if not more so. He suddenly becomes hyper-aware of the fact that there’s just the thin layer of the towel between him and Klaus’ warm skin. And that’s making him feel drunk, all that  _ skin. _ There’s skin on his thighs, skin against his shoulders where Klaus’ arms are now wrapped, skin pressed to his lips as he’s kissing him again, skin on his chin as Klaus is moving his hands to cup Diego’s head and tilt it back for better access. 

It’s perfect. Klaus smells clean and floral, his breath peppermint spicy as it mingles with his own. He’s lithe, he’s almost naked and he’s beautiful, and Diego can’t think. He lets his arms slide from Klaus’ wet hair down to his waist, and then lower, brashly coming up under the towel and palming his ass. It’s an immediate rush, and Diego is slightly surprised that he has enough blood to go to his cheeks as well. He groans.

“God. Want you. I want you so bad.” Klaus whispers against his mouth, and yeah, Diego feels it too. He takes one hand from under the towel, braces it against Klaus’ back as he turns and lowers him on the couch, settling his weight on top of him, arranging himself between his thighs. He’s acting on instinct now, every drive of his body automatic, unfiltered by any significant process other than  _ want, need, now, _ and they’re kissing again, more urgent this time, messy and rushed. 

Klaus doesn’t kiss like Diego expected him to, he’s more restrained, he doesn’t kiss to take but to be taken. His hands move from where he’s cupping Diego’s face, then squeeze between their bodies and curl around his belt buckle. Diego grabs his hands, pinning them against the arm of the couch, and he starts to kiss down his chest, making Klaus shudder and arch up against his lips. He’s lost now, any pretenses gone; they both want this so he’s going for it. His lips reach a particularly sensitive spot above Klaus’ navel, and he lets his head drop to the couch with a moan that turns into a pained hiss as soon as he touches the cushions.

And that’s when it all comes crashing down into Diego. The head injury. The fight. Ben. This isn’t right. Diego instantly stops, getting up, feeling absolutely stricken.

“Shit. I’m sorry, you- This isn’t-”

Klaus gets on his elbows, looking confused, hurt. “What?”

“You’re- I can’t.” He gets up, wiping spit from the corner of his mouth, angry at himself, at his brain, at his actions. What the fuck, he was this close to taking advantage of someone at their most vulnerable. He doesn’t even need to think the words before they clearly escape his lips.

“I’m sorry.” 

And he leaves. He’s not aware of how he walks to the door, how he gets inside his own apartment. It’s adrenaline tinged with shame, it’s mortifying.

Only when he’s back in his own apartment does he think better and a new wave of guilt strikes. He’s left Klaus alone at a time like that, when Ben could come back at any time. He goes back out, paces for a bit before he decides to take a seat on the Hello/Goodbye welcome mat in front of Klaus’ apartment, leaning back against the door. He doesn’t sleep that night, standing patrol on that mat, unmoving. 

He must have fallen asleep towards the morning, he realizes as he wakes in the faint light of sunrise coming through the hallway window. One of the neighbors locks their door and cautiously avoids stepping on his feet as she goes past him and towards the stairwell. 

Six AM. He gets up, heads to his own apartment - careful to leave the door slightly open, in case he hears anything - and goes to make himself a coffee. 

Ben doesn’t return. A little before noon, the door to Klaus’ apartment opens and closes, and Diego can see Klaus heading out. He wants to stop him, to ask him how he was, but he can’t bring himself to do it - how would he even start? He’s done a lot of thinking that night, and the only thing he seemed to settle on was the fact that he’s been an asshole, preying on Klaus in a vulnerable moment.

He watches Klaus through the blinds, and he seems okay - or so Diego tells himself. He tries to work up some courage to approach him when he returns.

Diego plays with one of his knives, tossing it with a spin and catching it in his hand until the ringing stops. 

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Diego dear. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.” 

“How’s the new apartment?”

“It’s, uh-” It was a good match for how he was feeling - strangely hollow, with an unsettling weight about it. But he can’t say that to Grace. “It’s a bit small but it’s perfect for what I need right now. Partially furnished. I do have some furniture shopping to make, could you maybe join me? Drop by first, to see how it looks right now, we’ll go out for lunch. Make a day out of it. How does it sound?”

“It sounds great, dear. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine mom, really. How are you?”   
  
“Luther dropped by. You should give him a call, you know. Things are going great with Allison, I’m sure she’d love to see you again.”

They were supposed to go on a double date, but then Eudora-- The plans had been postponed indefinitely and he doesn’t feel ready to see them so soon. Allison would be absolutely perfect, giving him all the space he needs - really, Luther lucked out with her - but his brother had all the grace of a bull in a china shop and Diego was not patient enough to deal with that.

“Yeah, I’ll give him a call. Look, I was going to ask you something; remember one of dad’s old students, Quentin? Do you know what happened to him after he stopped coming for his lessons?”

“Oh, I remember Quentin. Clever boy. He ran away right after he stopped coming for his lessons. I heard he cut ties with his family but it seems like he really made a name for himself in theoretical physics - I’m sure both your father and his would have been proud of him. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, I just- I saw him in town a couple of nights ago.”

“Oh, if you see him again do send him my best! He was such a lovely boy.”

“I will, mom. I’ll call you about that lunch, okay? Take care.”

“Alright. I love you, dear.”

Diego looks at his watch, he has plenty of time time. He drives to the library and looks up all he can find on Quentin.

Turns out Grace was right - Quentin has indeed made a name for himself in theoretical physics, being up for several awards that year alone, finding himself a rather popular figure in the field. Somewhat of an eccentric, he chose to publish under the name “Five”, citing his love for numbers and the Latin origin of the name Quentin - ‘the fifth’. Diego would have believed that had he not had a vivid memory of his father’s voice bellowing through the walls in a crescendo, calling out  _ “fifth place?” _ in such an accusatory tone that made Diego cower in the corridor. 

Night comes, and Klaus still hasn’t returned to the apartment. Diego is torn between staying put and going out on his usual patrol and looking for Klaus through the city. The decision was taken for him by the fact that his body was feeling all the strain of spending over twenty-four hours awake - at thirty. In a very strange way, Diego - never one to pass up on a good twisted line of thinking - accepted the strain as punishment. He was an asshole, he deserved it. 

Somehow, he found himself back on the rooftop terrace, hugging the railing, feet hanging off the side of the roof just like Klaus had the last time they met there. Exhaustion had melted in the cool night air, and he somehow got a second wind which kept him awake until the sun came up, and he headed through the thick fog of exhaustion back to his apartment. He was asleep in a manner of minutes.

Diego goes out on patrol every night after that, keeping an eye for Klaus on the streets and at home - but no one returns to their apartment, and Diego’s starting to worry. Until two weeks later, on an afternoon as insipid as the previous ones, when there’s a knock on his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life though, am I right? :) :) :)  
> I'm currently the living embodiment of the "this is fine" meme - but hey, at least Klaus and Diego are ~~probably~~ ~~eventually~~ gonna bone so I got that going for me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Klaus lets the water hit his face, he lets the warmth spread down and in and begin to relax some of his sore muscles. His skin is stinging sharply in places, there are bruises on his back and neck. He can’t remember how he got most of those - he has a pretty good idea, but no recollection - but that’s still not what eats at him. It’s Ben. Of course. Because everything was fucked. He did it, he managed to do something so fucked up that not even _he_ could unfuck. What if he, basically, killed Ben? For good, this time. No goodbyes, just a stupid freakout and, just like that, Ben was gone.
>> 
>> It would be like Klaus, though. He wouldn’t really be surprised if he _had_ done it.

A distorted voice breaks through Klaus’ dreams and he opens his eyes, consciousness bringing forth a wave of nausea and a thick thumping in his temples. It takes him too long to identify the pattern of small circles in front of him as the backrest of a bench, but when he does, he pushes up, turning and dropping his feet to the ground. He’s in a bus station. 

A woman walks hurriedly past him, dragging along a child that turns his neck to stare at Klaus, mouth hanging open mid-sentence. Klaus pokes his tongue out at him, turning to try and identify exactly where he was. Instinctively, his hands pat his coat for his pack of cigarettes and his lighter, but his pockets are empty. He sees that he’s wearing jeans instead of his leather pants - ill-fitting jeans, by the way they hang loosely around his hips. There’s a couple of crumpled up bills and coins in one of his pants pockets, which he counts then drops back in his pocket.

Klaus wakes up when the bus leaves the stop, blinking groggily and stretching while looking around. The bus was mostly empty, a couple of young tourists with large backpacks finally settling down a few rows ahead of him. He falls right back asleep, wrapped tightly in his coat.

Dusk was settling as the bus was quietly rolling towards the city’s outskirts. Klaus had the current date, but it wasn’t at all helpful in identifying how long he’d been gone for - dates ultimately meant nothing when he wasn’t sober so he had no idea when he even left. He couldn’t remember how he got two cities over and he only had broken stubs of memories from the previous days, most notably a night-time limousine ride he’s spent with the wind in his hair and a mouth on his cock. Everything else was a disjointed mess of flashing lights, the clink of glasses, crushed up pills, and sweaty bodies.

A woman with a muddied shirt and an arm twisted implausibly back looked only briefly at Klaus before turning her head to look up at the man on the chair in front of her, the hair on the back of her head matted with shiny blood. He was fairly sobered up, Klaus could feel it in the headache pulsing and radiating out through his temples, in the way his stomach churned, bile threatening to rise. He’s way too sober for his liking, ghosts slowly finding their way around him, but Ben still wasn’t there. Klaus can’t remember much from the past few days, but he can remember with startling clarity the fact that Ben was gone. 

Klaus never had time to grieve Ben properly. He remembers all those years ago, crouching over his warm, lifeless body, unable to move once he understood what had happened, before it all became a blur of sirens, a blur of blue scrubs and blue police uniforms. He started to feel something flicker on the edges of his consciousness while he was on the quiet drive home, in the back of Reginald's fancy car, but it was so faint that it was easy to overlook. 

He wasn’t able to think of much at all when he reached Reginald’s office, and his father finally spoke. Sir chose his words as carefully as he did the patches of skin where he landed his cane - so they could inflict as much pain as possible. Klaus was punished with curt words and a long beating, followed by a night and morning locked in the mausoleum. Reginald had long given up on the pretense that the mausoleum was training, the both of them playing along like it wasn’t the deliberate torture it was. And from then on, he didn’t need to hide from Ben either.

That night though, Reginald didn’t account for one thing - the fact that Klaus wasn’t in his uniform, he was in his street clothes where he’d learned to sow a small slit in the lining of his jacket to hide a small switchblade. The blade wasn’t much, but it was enough to shock Reginald into submission when he opened the mausoleum door and had it pressed to his throat. 

Klaus had nothing left to lose, his actions could hurt no one - so he stood up for himself. It worked, that was the last time he ever stepped foot in that mausoleum. Ironic, since it was the first time that he managed to get some control over his powers while in there. Among the crowds of mindless dead gathered to scream their horror at Klaus, there was a new face, flickering slowly into shape a few flakes at a time. Ben. Ben was there, a hollow look in his eye and an easy smile painted on his face. Ben was there, and Klaus could not comprehend that; he was so stunned by the idea that he decided he would not accept it. He’s never done it before, but it felt natural the way he closed his eyes and focused, and ripped Ben right out of that place and back into the world. 

Ben was certainly not supposed to be there. Ghosts were hardly people anymore. Sure, they were shaped like people, frozen in their bodies as they passed, but their minds were stuck in a loop of anger and fear and regret. It took Ben several days to come back to himself, to talk, but he still didn’t remember anything about those first few days. Klaus had to tell him, through a stream of tears that he could not control, how he died. 

Ever since then, wherever Ben was - either with Klaus or in that nothing place he went to, Klaus could feel him. He could feel Ben just like he could feel temperature, like he could taste or see; he had a dedicated sense for Ben’s presence, and it was a gradient. But it was always present, to some degree. Not since that night in the apartment though, since the possession, when Klaus did whatever the fuck he did and Ben simply disappeared. 

The elevator was still out of order, not that it was a surprise, and Klaus felt his heart in his throat as he went up the stairs. It was irrational, but he somehow hoped that Ben would wait for him at home. It made no sense - Ben appeared wherever Klaus was, he could never go far; but Klaus still hoped. 

His hand was on the door handle when his brain caught up with him and he checked his pockets once more, although he knew full well that they were empty. The door was locked, he remembered putting the key in the thin pocket of his leather pants - the ones he seems to have misplaced somewhere along the way. He’s getting restless, his fingers drumming his thighs, and he mindlessly starts patting his pockets for his cigarettes. It’s not what he’s  _ really _ craving, but it could definitely help. He doesn’t have any, he doesn’t have anything at all, either on him or in his apartment. He took the last of his pills that night, when Diego broke in- Klaus takes a deep breath as he remembers. Diego.

His apartment was right there, and even though he had no idea if Diego was home, Klaus could still try. He could even cite that promised cooking lesson, were it not for how he left things.

Messy, that’s how he left things. Ben had just disappeared, Klaus was overwhelmed and that pill was right there; how could he resist? He didn’t even think when he took the baggie from his pocket, letting the little pill dissolve in a bitter dot on his tongue before he swallowed it dry. The shower was made all the more pleasant, and he pushed all thoughts of Ben and the possession to the back of his mind as he came out of the bathroom and saw Diego looking at him.

And it was strange, Klaus never had any issues with having sex while high - in fact, he preferred it - but with Diego, it made his insides twist unpleasantly like he was being unfair to him, dishonest. And Diego didn’t seem to mind it - until he did. Klaus can’t say what made Diego stop that night, it might have been that Diego noticed that he was high and left. It made sense. It made Klaus feel uncomfortable and guilty, and he knew it would be a little more than awkward to knock on his door and ask to crash on his couch.

If Klaus had any shame, he wouldn’t do it - but if Klaus had any shame, his entire life would have looked differently. Luckily, that was just not the kind of person he was. He was the kind of person to knock on Diego’s door, unsure whether to paint on a smile or to adopt a more regretful look. 

  
  


The door opened to a surprised Diego, who - of all things - threw his hands out and pulled Klaus in a hug. He was expecting anger, disgust maybe; not the relief that was obvious in the way that Diego was squeezing him tight, sighing against his neck. 

“Are you okay? What happened?”

Klaus shrugs. He knows what he looks like, he’s seen the bruises on his neck, the circles around his eyes. There are more bruises under his shirt, he feels the pull of the welts on his thighs as he moves - he knows better than to lie about the obvious. He still doesn’t know what to say, but Diego beckons him inside and he steps in.

They do a little dance where Klaus is confused for a couple of seconds, turning to ask Diego something that he instantly forgets when Diego puts his hands right above Klaus’ elbows and walks him, backwards, to a barstool by the counter. He sits as soon as the back of his thighs hit the seat, and he looks up at Diego.

“Okay,” Diego says, and Klaus finds himself nodding along. “What happened?”

Klaus stares at him for a few long seconds, unsure of what to even say. He chooses the most pressing issue.

“Ben’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone? Since when?”

“Gone, like- He sometimes... runs away. But I could always-” What’s a good metaphor for how he feels Ben? “He would always give me a sign. This time I’ve heard nothing from him since he left. Since that night in my apartment.” He looks away, at nothing in particular. _ When you broke in and saved me from my nightstand. _

“Have you filed a missing person’s report?”

Diego’s hands are still holding his arms. He’s not even aware that he’s doing it but Klaus is, unnaturally so - and he’s not even a little bit high. He really isn’t, Mr Bell’s babble coming in louder from the corner of the room where he’s stuck. Klaus looks back at Diego, then back at his hands and that works, Diego releasing him and straightening up.

“Do you want to go to the police? I can come with you.”

“No, it’s fine.” Because, really, how could the police help. “I mean,” He adds when there’s a small twitch in Diego’s eyebrows. “Of course it’s not fine. It’s not fine; he’s  _ never _ done this. I don’t know where he is, I don’t know if he’ll be back. I’m-” He shrugs, shaking his head. “He’s always been with me; it’s how it’s always been. Ever since we were little, he’s been with me. They never separated us, in the system; we were a package deal. Every day, every single day he’s been there. I don’t even know what to do, you know?” 

Diego frowns.

“Ben’s your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Diego seems surprised but he doesn’t comment on it. “I can help you look for him.”

_ You really can’t. _ Klaus smiles but says nothing. 

“What about you? What happened?”

Klaus can’t help it. He’s smiling, dumb and honest; maybe there’s just a hint of sweet madness that makes him want to ruin it for himself. Maybe he just wants to see what happens. Either way, he’s honest, so at least there’s that.

“Long story short, a drug-fuelled bender that took me two cities over.” __

_ These aren’t even my pants, _ he almost says, but somehow,  _ that _ feels like the undignified part that he keeps to himself.

He looks at Diego, curious to see his reaction. Will it be anger? Disappointment? He gets none of those things as Diego just says,  _ ‘right’ _ , and goes to the counter to look through the cabinets and the fridge. Klaus sits on the barstool, legs bouncing restlessly as he watches Diego silently spread peanut butter and jelly on slices of bread. Diego’s making sandwiches and Klaus wonders what’s going through his head until he sets the knife down and pushes the plate with two diagonally cut sandwiches in front of Klaus. He stares at the plate, dumbly, then up at Diego, who’s leaning back against the sink. 

“Eat.”

Klaus does, realizing only then how hungry he’d been. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten, but then again he can’t remember much of anything. He thanks Diego, who’s not eating. He’s just looking at Klaus, and while he does look tired, he doesn’t look tired of him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” 

_ Okay. _ Just that. 

“If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m right here.” 

Klaus has to thank him again - that’s twice in one night - and he’d have to go for a third, too.

“I lost the key to my apartment. Could I, uh, stay here until I get that sorted?”

“Sure,” Diego says, and it still breaks Klaus a little to hear it, even though he knew he’d say yes. Of course he’d say yes, Diego is  _ nice. _ People usually aren’t, Klaus had found. “The couch is comfortable enough; I’ll give you a blanket and a pillow. Give me a second to check, but I’m pretty sure I have a clean towel in case you wanted to take a shower.”

Diego vanishes in his bedroom, and Klaus brushes a few breadcrumbs from where they landed on his coat, watching them fall and spread out on the floor. He feels like a piece of shit for dropping in like that, he feels even worse for being taken in and taken care of with what seems like no ulterior motive. He stands up when Diego eventually comes back, handing him a scratchy towel and a worn-looking tee.

“Do you need anything?” Klaus shakes his head, holding the towel and the tee close to his chest, fighting the urge to bury his nose in it. “Okay. I’m going to turn in, I’ll leave the blanket on the couch.” He catches Klaus’ eyes, and when he speaks, it’s warm and kind. “I’m glad you’re okay. Now shower, sleep, and tomorrow morning we go look for Ben, okay?”

Klaus hates showers. For some reason, where a bath would be relaxing, showers held within a sense of urgency that he could not explain to himself. The hissing of the water always dragged him deeper into thoughts, and boy did he hate being alone with them. 

Because he  _ was _ alone. For the first time in his life - the first time since he stopped setting foot in that mausoleum, at least - Klaus was alone. Not without spirits, he’s not that lucky, but he’s without the one spirit he really wants by his side. The only one who has always been with him, both in life and after it. 

Klaus lets the water hit his face, he lets the warmth spread down and in and begin to relax some of his sore muscles. His skin is stinging sharply in places, there are bruises on his back and neck. He can’t remember how he got most of those - he has a pretty good idea, but no recollection - but that’s still not what eats at him. It’s Ben. Of course. Because everything was fucked. He did it, he managed to do something so fucked up that not even  _ he _ could unfuck. What if he, basically,  _ killed _ Ben? For good, this time. No goodbyes, just a stupid freakout and, just like that, Ben was gone.

It would be like Klaus, though. He wouldn’t really be surprised if he  _ had _ done it.

What did surprise him in all this, though, was Diego. Diego the unpredictable. Klaus wanted to go to him, to shake him awake and to ask,  _ why. _ Why does he care? Why is he so nice? Because Klaus knows he doesn’t deserve nice. He doesn’t deserve the way Diego looks at him, the way he  _ sees  _ him, and the way he still chooses to let him be close enough.

He does deserve the molten lava pain coursing through his bones and both the incessant screaming and the loud loneliness. Diego can help with none of that. 

Diego is asleep when Klaus comes out of the bathroom; he sees him through the bedroom door that he’s left open. He’s snoring softly so Klaus takes a deep breath, gets dressed, and leaves the apartment. 

There’s an NA meeting two blocks over, he’s attended a couple of times, he knows the core of the group. Klaus spends hours leaning against the wall on the other side of the street, working up the resolve to go in. He doesn’t. 

He’s sober. Sober enough for the screams to burrow into his brain again, to itch on his skin, to make him sick, angry. If Ben was there- But he wasn’t. If he was there, he’d tell him to go in. He wouldn’t even need to say much. That’s how it worked, Ben had always been Klaus’ conscience, the one redeeming thing about him. But he was gone, and all the other ghosts weren’t.

He shouldn’t be surprised that he ends up in an alley. So many cornerstone moments in his life happened in alleys; it was unavoidable that he’d end up in yet another. He stares at the baggie, trying to scrub from his mind what he did to earn it, and he’s wondering when he’ll do it. Not  _ if; _ he knows he will, it’s just a matter of _ when.  _

The city is ugly. It’s dirty, it’s filled with hollow people, with angry noises and with ghosts - so many ghosts. They scream, they beg, scratching deep inside his brain until Klaus decides it’s time. So he opens the baggie, shrugs, and swallows.

He wakes up in an ambulance - again - startled by the loud whine of the siren. He’s nothing if not predictable, and hey, wasn’t that a good thing? His life, in all its fucked-up-ness, was fairly cyclical. Right there, strapped to that stretcher, in the sound of rhythmic beeps and whining sirens, he decides to stop fighting it. From then on, he’s on autopilot - he can, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t protest all the poking and prodding, he doesn’t combat all the accusatory words. He just takes the dirty, pitying looks he gets. 

He ends up, again, in rehab. His life was a sad series of  _ agains. _ He goes through the days in a broken daze, accepting the pain that wrecks him before he’s on the other side of the worst. He’s done it over and over, and this time he’s doing it once again, still.

But to what end? Ben was still gone.

The rest of the ghosts weren’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it gets bad before it gets better!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Klaus is gone by the time Diego wakes up and steps out into the living room. The blanket is bunched on the couch, his coat and boots gone. Diego would lie if he said he was surprised. Disappointed - sure. But not surprised. He’s equally unsurprised that there’s no answer when he knocks on Klaus’ door. He keeps staring at that mat, the one he’s spent that night on, and he has to ask himself what the fuck is he doing. 

Klaus is gone by the time Diego wakes up and steps out into the living room. The blanket is bunched on the couch, his coat and boots gone. Diego would lie if he said he was surprised. Disappointed - sure. But not surprised. He’s equally unsurprised that there’s no answer when he knocks on Klaus’ door. He keeps staring at that mat, the one he’s spent that night on, and he has to ask himself what the fuck is he doing. 

He barely knows anything about Klaus, and it turns out that parts of what he thought he knew were wrong. And yet-- There’s something purely magnetic about Klaus, something that drew Diego in from that first time they met. Of course, there’s that _other_ thing too - that night, in Klaus’ apartment? Diego would have gone through with it, had Klaus not been such a tight-lipped prick. Or had Diego actually listened to him.

Which is… unsettling. He barely got out of a long term relationship, he is still trying to find his balance on his own so this whole thing? He doesn’t want to jump into another relationship so soon. But even the thought of keeping things purely shallow seems wrong somehow. Despite all the instincts he has - and Diego always took pride in his instincts - he feels like he doesn’t want Klaus to be just a rebound lay. 

It takes Diego two days after Klaus skipped out for him to begrudgingly reach out to Eudora. It dawns on him, when the idea comes to him, that - save for his talk with Grace - he hasn’t thought about her in days. He isn’t over her, that much is clear from the way his stomach twists itself into knots as he works up the courage to call her, to hear her voice again. But he does, and it’s just as awkward as he imagined it would be. They agree to meet in the precinct, and Diego hopes that it would somehow keep things from veering into personal and uncomfortable territories.

His heart pulls when he sees her, and he feels a thrashing of defiance that’s so close to making him lash out. Yeah, he’s not over it, but at least he knows that it’s over. This isn’t his first breakup, his first heartbreak, but it _had_ been his longest relationship, the one that he thought could be his last one. He doesn’t have to remind himself that it’s over, but he doesn’t have to like it either. He tries to push all of that deep, to remind himself what he came for. It gets easier instead of more difficult as he approaches her desk, and there she is, looking up at him and smiling despite her tired face. It’s not the smile that used to greet him after long shifts, the one right before they shared a kiss; but it’s anything but hostile.

“Hey, Diego. How have you been?”

“Fine.” Which was just as good a response as any. “You?”

“Yeah, also fine.” There’s a wall there, they both hide behind it and it’s safer that way. 

“Listen, I need your help with something.”

“You did say that.”

Diego doesn’t really know how to phrase it, so he just talks. Talking with her used to be easy - well, most of the time, at least - and things can’t have changed that much. 

“I worry about my neighbor, he’s been missing since Tuesday.”

“Right. Want to file a missing persons’ report?”

“Not really? I was thinking you could, you know. Let me know if he shows up somewhere?”

“Shows up somewhere? Like where exactly?”

“Okay.” He pulls up the chair in front of her desk and sits down, leaning forward a bit. “I don’t know a lot about him. Name’s Klaus, he’s in his late twenties, early thirties, six foot; he’s quite the sight though, he dresses rather… colorfully?” Hard to settle on a word, but that would have to do. “Also, he’s a user, so as far as showing up somewhere- you know.”

“Did you call any hospitals?”

“Thing is, I don’t have his last name.”

“Helpful.”

“I know, sorry.”

“So I should keep an eye out for a colorfully-dressed addict in his thirties, called Klaus?”

“Okay, maybe eccentric is a better word? Either way, trust me; people will know who you mean if they’ve met him. Also- his brother has been missing for approximately two weeks. All I know about him is that he’s named Ben.”

Diego can see on her face, she wants to say something and he wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to help him. However-

“Okay.” She’s writing things down in her small pad. “Klaus, you said? Late twenties, early thirties?”

He nods.

“Any details on Ben? A description?”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

Maybe it’s guilt that makes her cave so easily, maybe it’s the way they’re still working out how to interact now - either way, the meeting worked out better than Diego expected. All he can do now is to wait and to keep an eye on next door.

Two days after his meeting with Eudora, she calls him. It’s a fairly short conversation, and Diego is left looking at the pad long after he hangs up. 

First of all, Klaus is in rehab. Not unexpected.

What he didn’t expect, though, was that Ben? He’s died back in 2006. And that Ben and Klaus’ last name was Hargreeves - just like Quentin’s. 

Diego is leaning against the hood of his car, waiting in front of the clinic. He still has some time until he knows that Klaus would be discharged, which was useful; he still has a lot of thinking to do. A _lot_ of thinking. The walls are thin enough and Diego’s sure he heard Klaus say Ben’s name, and he’s heard them talk. What he only realized when he was thinking of going to the police, is that he’s never seen Ben. It didn’t feel unusual and Diego never gave it any thought, but now it feels significant.

Finally, Klaus steps out of the building, head turned and waving cheerily at the people inside the lobby, losing the smile and all the pleasantness on his face the instant he turns to the street. He doesn’t see Diego at first, looking around while patting his pockets and coming up with precisely one cigarette and a lighter. He spots Diego as he’s lighting up the cigarette, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and he approaches his car in long strides. He’s not much different from how he was that afternoon when he showed up at Diego’s door, looking hurt, broken, and defeated.

“How did you find me?”

“Friends in the force.”

“Oh.” Klaus is motionless still, but his mind so clearly isn’t. 

“How are you?”

Klaus sighs white curls of smoke before narrowing his eyes.

“Why are you doing this, Diego? Why are you so nice to me? Why do you _care_ so much?”

Diego, well he doesn’t have an easy answer for that. And Klaus doesn’t give him any time to answer anyway.

“I've given it a lot of thought - not much else to do this past couple of weeks, you know - and I can't seem to put my finger on one thing. That night, in my apartment- you pulled away, so you're clearly not in it for _this_ hot bod." He points at himself with flair, but the dull light in his eyes makes it clear that he knows precisely what he looks like. "Are you the type of guy that collects strays? Charity cases? Or is this a serial killer type of situation; am I your next victim? I'm too pretty for a regular murder scene; you'd better make it all picturesque, with weird messages and symbols and shit.”

Klaus is rambling, but visibly losing steam. When he stops, Diego points to his car.

"Get in."

Once Klaus buckles in and stops moving for a second, he catches Diego’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

"You still haven't answered my question, you know."

“Neither have you. How are you?”

“Better in some ways, way worse in others.” Klaus is fidgeting again, pulling at his seatbelt and rearranging his legs. He leans back to stretch with a groan, his light gray t-shirt lifting to offer a sliver of white skin underneath. “This isn’t my first rodeo; I know what’s next. I’m precisely how I should be right now. That’s it.” He turns to look at Diego. “Now you.”

"What, why I help you? Because I'm a decent human being and, no matter what you may be thinking, so are you."

"Believe me, ‘decent’ is not something--”

"Shut it. We'll get home, you're going to eat something, and then we can talk.” 

"What's with you and food? You know, they feed us at the clinic.”

"Well, I’ll feed you at my place too.” 

It’s a blessing that Diego wasn’t expecting when Klaus doesn’t challenge him and instead leans silently against the window, watching the buildings go past them until they reach their building.

The elevator is still out of order to Klaus trudges up the stairs, Diego following a few steps behind. Instinctively, Klaus heads to his own place but Diego grabs his elbow, beckoning him back and into his own apartment. Once he’s reluctantly shrugged off his coat and pushed off his boots, Diego leads a pliant Klaus to the bathroom, handing him a clean towel and some of his own clothes. 

“This time, that princess skin of yours will have to suffer through the challenges of towel drying. And put these on, okay? It’s non-negotiable.”

Diego makes pasta, setting the plates on the counter just as Klaus emerges from the bathroom. Despite not having done much that day, Diego’s tired but fortunately Klaus reads the room and doesn’t speak much past a couple of compliments aimed at his cooking skills. As soon as Klaus starts pushing the last of the food around his plate, Diego takes it to the sink, folding his arms and resting back against the counter. 

“Feeling better?”

“Mhmm. Thank you. And I'm sorry for- you know.”

Diego doesn’t know, though. The fiction of Klaus is bigger than his personality, and boy does that thing take up space. But Diego understands what Klaus was doing, he’s known since he stepped foot in his apartment. Klaus has been in similar situations enough times to default to a perceived cooperation, going along with what he’s told, then going for compliments, apologies- it’s a technique to distract Diego, but he’s not having it.

“Good. Now tell me about Ben. The truth this time.”

“What do you want to know?”

"You can tell me what happened in 2006, for starters.”

Diego can see it in Klaus’ face when he understands. He sets his jaw, looking away, and the struggle in him is visible. He narrows his eyes, trying to read Diego, to maybe assess how much he knows but Diego’s face betrays nothing.

“There was an- An incident.” Klaus finally says, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Yes. And?”

He smiles, Klaus smiles and Diego knows that he finally broke past that dam. Klaus fixes him with a defiant look; nothing Diego wasn’t expecting, really, and it’s obvious that he understands the situation. He understands that Diego _knows._

"And he died.” 

Diego closes his eyes. He knew it, he wanted to hear it from Klaus and yet hearing it said out loud didn’t really change anything. What did he expect it to change, really? 

"Why do you talk about him as if he's still here?” 

"Hah. Well, this is going to sound a bit mad, but.” Klaus still smiles, picking up his clean napkin and absent-mindedly folding and unfolding it. “We’re both going to regret that I’m saying this, but he's sort of been by my side since.”

Diego blinks.

“What are you saying; are you hearing voices? Seeing him?”

“Well hearing _Ben’s_ voice and seeing him, yes.”

“Have you talked to anyone about this?”

“What, my delusions? Everybody thinks the weird junkie must be high, right? Crazy? This is precisely why I keep it to myself, you know. I did make the mistake of mentioning it a couple of times, and every time I did, I ended up pumped full of pills - and not even the fun kind.”

“So you've seen a psychiatrist.”

“I've had to see a couple before I learned to keep my mouth shut. They didn't help. They can't help. Ben is really here. Well, he was. I've done something, I don't even know what, and he's been gone since that fateful night when you broke in to save me from my nightstand. Gone, _poof!_ Can't sense him, can't conjure him, can't manifest him. Nothing.” 

Diego still looks at him, hating how worry begins to wave its tendrils. Sensing, conjuring, manifesting - Klaus uses the words with such ease, such normalcy that Diego is nearly pulled into the delusion for a second.

"As I said, this is why I don't tell people.” 

Diego was convinced it was some sort of trauma - way above his pay grade. And yet. All he could think of was how he was absolutely determined to give Klaus the help and support he needs. Klaus, who’s visibly trying to control an outburst.

“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me. I don’t need your help. I mean, sure, thanks, but no thanks.” He begins to stand up from the chair but Diego’s hand comes and touches his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. He sits back down, suddenly pliant.

“Right. Let’s say, for a second, that I believe you, okay?” He wants to. He’d take the existence of the paranormal and Klaus being actually haunted by his brother over the much plausible explanation of schizophrenia or a host of other mental health problems. Kaus doesn’t let him finish his line of questioning.

“Ben’s not the only one I see, by the way.”

“What?”

“I can see other ghosts.”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“No, I literally see dead people.” Klaus smiles. He challenges. “For example, I see Mr Bell over there,” he points his crumpled napkin to a corner, “he’s been having a really rough time since, you know. Half of his brain became wallpaper.”

Diego tries to not let his surprise show on his face, but he’s failed, and he knows that Klaus will latch onto that. But they live right next door and it would have been very easy for him to get all that information about his murder. He could have _heard_ it all go down.

“He still insists that he’ll pay them back - it was two of them, by the way, I don’t know if you have this tantalizing snippet - though I highly doubt that he’s in any position to settle his financial matters anymore.”

“Is that supposed to convince me?”

Klaus shrugs. “Nah. I don’t need you to believe me, it won’t change anything. The ghosts will keep on screaming regardless, and I’ll probably go back to silencing them like I always do.”

“Silencing them?”

“Drugs.” Klaus says with a smile that’s too enthusiastic for what he’s saying. Or just the right amount. “Come on, you were about to be a cop and everything, aren’t you supposed to be better at making connections and shit?”

Diego lets it slide. He won’t get distracted.

“Drugs?”

“Loads of drugs. The only time they all shut the hell up is when I’m high. It’s an easy equation to solve, even by me, and I’ve never been particularly good at maths. Probably because I wasn’t in a real school for too long.”

“Okay,” Diego tries again, “Say I believe you. You see ghosts and you're being haunted, I guess, by your dead brother.”

“And others.” Klaus fills in.

“And others. When did this start?”

“Start? I don’t think it was a switch that flipped at some point, it was always like this. Ben was the first one to believe me - obviously - but most people thought I was plain ol’ crazy. That’s why we never stayed with one family for too long; until Reginald fucking Hargreeves, that is.”

Right, _Hargreeves._

Quentin.

“The guy was obsessed with my powers. He was a weird scientist-type. He adopted us, took us in - but not in any fatherly way, mind you. He treated me like an experiment, the fucking--” Klaus is patting his pockets, stopping after the realization sets in. He picks up the crumpled napkin, unfolding it absent-mindedly. “Ben came as a package deal with me, but he was _ordinary_ so Reginald took no interest in him - thank fuck for that, really. He used to beat me when I didn’t perform as expected. And I _rarely_ performed as expected. I ran away long before he died; he stopped having any power over me after Ben--” Klaus shrugs and takes a deep breath. “But the old man’s dead now; good riddance. The world has to be a better place now that he isn’t here anymore.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” 

Klaus is tearing the crumpled napkin into little pieces, making a little pile on his plate. Diego doesn’t know how to ask; he starts a few times in his head before he opens his mouth.

“Do you know Quentin Hargreeves?”

Klaus rips his eyes away from the napkin, looking at Diego.

“How do you--”

“My father tutored him in physics and maths for a while.”

“So you knew him _before-”_ A corner of his mouth curls up and he looks away. “He was the first to run away. He was also a stray, just like Ben and me. An exceptional little fucker; he was heaps smarter than the old man and I think that’s why he drove him so hard. It’s like he punished him, purely out of spite for the audacity of being smarter than Sir Reginald fucking Hargreeves. He ran away not long after we joined that mad scientist lair - but it was long enough to see that he, too, got the _Hargreeves family special_ \-- I think it was usually the belt for him.”

Diego can almost see it, Quentin leaving his lessons, going back to that place that seemed to have broken other young spirits. No wonder he ran away - no wonder _both_ of them did. 

“I catch up with him from time to time, when he’s in town. Good for him, you know? Getting away when he did. He’s better now, he’s managed to become all Sir wanted him to be, but only after the old man died, so he wouldn’t have the satisfaction, he couldn’t claim his success. Did you know him?”

“Barely.” He doesn’t tell Klaus that he knew what happened. He can’t really say anything, his heart just as much in shreds as the flakes of paper on that plate. 

“Yeah, he kept too himself. I had a feeling he didn’t like Ben or me too much, but that might have been just him, you know. I thought he was jealous at first, of the bond that Ben and I had, or maybe at the attention that I got in the beginning, as the shiny new toy, but that lasted until the first time Reginald beat me. He never hid that from Quentin like he did from Ben.”

He sighs, looking around. “Well, that’s me and my shitty life, no longer a mystery. Can I go now? I won’t be offended if you don’t talk to me again; I won’t blame you”

“Klaus. Fuck, I don’t want-” _I don’t want you to go?_ “I don’t want that.”

He doesn’t. For all the madness in his words, Klaus seemed finally sincere. And no matter what his particular trauma was, Diego was not willing to let him go through it alone, not if he could help. They’re at a stalemate, and Klaus rearranged himself on the chair, resting back.

“Then what?”

“Well, I have a class in the morning so I’d say, sleep.”

“Class?”

“Yeah, I started teaching a mixed martial arts class over at Al’s.”

“Wow, that’s really cool, sensei.”

Diego scoffs.

“One thing, though. Look at me, I’m serious. Don’t pull that disappearing act again, okay?”

Much to his credit, Klaus doesn't come back with the ‘or what’ that Diego was expecting. _Or I’ll find you,_ he thinks as Klaus nods, getting up.

Diego brushes his teeth looking at his stunned expression in the mirror. He wasn’t expecting Klaus to be boring or uncomplicated, but that? He was not prepared for that. Ghosts? He wouldn’t label Klaus as ‘conventional’ in any way, but seriously, ghosts? And the guy didn’t seem delusional at all. Distressed, yes. Lost. He could see Ben as a stunted growth kind of imaginary friend, at a stretch. But _ghosts?_

Klaus is leaning against the back of the couch when Diego returns with a folded sheet.

“I promise I’m not crazy.” Klaus peers up at him through heavy lids, wrung out and beaten down, and Diego really wants to believe him. “I know it’s mad; all of it. But _I’m_ really not.”

Their fingers brush as Klaus takes the offered sheets, and Diego- He gets suddenly overwhelmed. He wants to hug Klaus and it’s such a strong drive, burning through him like doing it could actually make things better. There’s a beat when their fingers touch and they both look at each other in silence, a sudden heaviness in their breath. Shit. Diego snaps out of it and it almost hurts to take his hands away, to mutter a ‘good night’ and to go to his bedroom. 

He falls asleep thinking of Quentin and Klaus and ghosts. 

Diego wakes well before the sun is up - his internal clock is absolutely fucked now - and the first thing he does as he heads to the bathroom is to check if Klaus is still there. A wave of relief washes over him when he peers over the couch and sees him, sprawled out, sheets half falling off, and Diego decides to go back to sleep.

It’s not his alarm that wakes Diego next, it’s an alarming smell - something’s burning. He scrambles off the mattress, tripping on absolutely nothing as he rushes to the living room, where he sees Klaus in the open-plan kitchen, standing in front of the stove. 

“What’s burning, chef?”

“Oh, ‘morning. I’m making toast.”

Diego looks at Klaus, then at the frying pan and the pieces of bread laying inside, then back at Klaus. He's still looking, his confusion increasing as Klaus touches one finger pad to the bottom of the pan then hisses and quickly puts it in his mouth.

“I-” He swallows. It’s too early for whatever the hell that was. “I have a toaster.”

“Yeah, sure, but it’s not working, so. You know, I’m quite resourceful if I try.”

“It _is_ working, you just have to plug it in.” Diego walks to the counter, pulling the coffee machine from the outlet and plugging in the toaster. “There’s not enough outlets for all these things, you gotta rotate.”

Klaus throws the toaster a betrayed look and turns off the gas.

“And, um. Did you… touch the burning pan just now, or am I imagining things?”

“Hah, yeah, that was stupid.” _No shit._ “I wanted to see if the pan was hot enough. It was.”

“I was about to suggest that you spend the day here until I come back but now I worry that this place isn’t insured for your particular brand of disaster.” He wants to add, ‘no offense’ but it wouldn’t be entirely true, so he doesn’t.

Klaus had asked why Diego was helping him and, well, he couldn’t explain it. Not with words that he could string into anything that made sense. But that? Those things, the brilliantly stupid, bright yet tragic, all of those; the chaotic energy he exuded, the madness that surrounded him, everything. Diego liked that, a lot - a lot more than he wanted to let himself to. He couldn't help but be drawn in. He couldn't help wanting to be close to him, and yeah, help him too. What was wrong with wanting to help people? It's what Diego did, it’s who he was. 

The toaster made them both jump when it pinged, and Klaus swore, an implausible string of filth and Diego just looked at him. 

"Stay." Klaus didn't hear the weight in the words, he was busy looking through the cabinets like he was in his own home. "I mean it. Don't touch anything that might catch fire for the next couple of hours, and when I’m back I'll take you to lunch."

"Is that a date?" Klaus turns as he asks, smiling and carefree and swinging around a butter knife.

"It's lunch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked my SO what he would have done if, 8+ years ago when we met, I'd have told him that I saw ghosts.  
> His answer: "I would not have put my dick in crazy."
> 
> So where I'm getting at is basically: tune in in a short couple of days to see if Diego thinks the same.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “Okay, so let me just put this out there once and for all - the ghosts don’t have one single fuck among them to give about you. Honestly, they’re barely even aware of me, and it’s me they flock to. They’re not exactly capable of rational thought, you know? They’re more like- spectral emotions? Anger, a whole lot of anger, and fear. They’re stuck in their own little loop of terror and they scream at me, like it’s my fault.” Klaus knows it’s not that, not exactly, but it’s not easy to dissect all that bullshit. “So, you know, chill. And, while statistically some of them might have been creepers when they were alive, none of them wants to see your dick once they’re dead.”

Diego had suggested a nicer place, one with “real food” as he put it but Klaus was in the mood for waffles and stood his ground, as petulantly as he could. 

“Let’s go for the diner though, since you’re paying.”

“I am?”

“I mean, lunch was your idea and convention says-”

“Since when do you give a fuck about conventions?”

“Touché. You’re still paying though.”

They ended up in a nearby diner, Klaus managing to corrupt ‘my body is a temple’ Diego to cave in to waffles as well. The place was fairly deserted, only one other pair of patrons were talking at the counter, so Diego took advantage to dive right in, as soon as the plates were placed in front of them.

“I don’t mean to be like this, but-- Ghosts?”

Klaus laughs, choking on the first bite of the waffle. He’s still laughing between sips of water, but eventually calms down enough to speak.

“Okay, tell you what - I won’t mention ghosts ever again if it makes you feel better. Alright? No ghosts.” He waves at the empty space around him. 

“But I wouldn’t see them anyway if they were here, would I?”

“Well, that’s a good point. But, if it helps, there are no ghosts here at the moment. This is a ghost-free establishment.”

“I’m not sure that’s helping, no.”

“See? It’s better if you forget all about it.”

“Right.” Diego still barely touched his waffles and Klaus knows how this conversation goes. He’s had it before, a couple of times, and he knows all the talking points. 

“Okay, so let me just put this out there once and for all - the ghosts don’t have one single fuck among them to give about you. Honestly, they’re barely even aware of me, and it’s me they flock to. They’re not exactly capable of rational thought, you know? They’re more like- spectral emotions? Anger, a whole lot of anger, and fear. They’re stuck in their own little loop of terror and they scream at me, like it’s my fault.” Klaus knows it’s not that, not exactly, but it’s not easy to dissect all that bullshit. “So, you know, chill. And, while statistically some of them might have been creepers when they were alive, none of them wants to see your dick once they’re dead.”

Diego blinks, clenching his jaw.

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better but it’s  _ really _ not working.”

“Then no more ghost-talk? I think I’d also prefer if we never mention this again.”

“Sure. Ghost voyeurism wasn’t exactly my concern. It is  _ now- _ ” He takes one sip of his coffee. “Though you have to admit the more,” he looks for the word carefully,  _ “concerning _ thing is that you can see them to begin with.”

“Yeah, I mean I know it’s not exactly- normal. You can imagine that I’m not a fan either. But it is what it is.” He shrugs. He’s had his whole life to deal with that, but Diego predictably needs more time to process. “You can ask me anything, you can choose to never speak again - about it or with me; you can choose to not believe me, of course. Unfortunately, it won’t change the fact that, yeah, they’re a pest that I have to deal with.” He chews and swallows a piece of waffle, then pours some more syrup on his next bit. “But I can deal with it on my own, though.”

“No offense, but I’ve seen you ‘deal’ with it on your own, and I gotta say you’re pretty shit at it.”

“Well.” There’s really not a lot to be said to that. He deflates a bit, pushing a perfectly triangular bit of waffle through the syrup. 

Ben. Klaus tries not to think of how he was alone now, he knows he should be probably grieving, but finds himself firmly planted in denial. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, pushing all other thoughts away. “So anyway. What do we do after this? Will you take me to the movies too?” He bats his eyes and Diego looks away and he may be _ smiling. _

“Well no, I actually got to sleep. Busy night ahead of me.”

“Diego! Partying on a school night?”

“Right, I haven’t, uh, told you about this.” Diego’s looking flustered and Klaus is screaming internally. 

“Oh my god? What is it? No, let me guess.” Diego opens his mouth. “No, I insist, let me guess. Ummm.” So many ideas, so little of them verbal and not just visual. “Bouncer in a really seedy joint. Dom in a dungeon? Go-go boy!” he’s clapping, without even noticing. “Please, let it be go-go boy. I may be broke but I surely have some singles stashed somewhere.”

“Yeah, what exactly do  _ you _ do for a living?”

“No, Mr Mysterious. You don’t get off the hook that easily. What is it that you do at night?”

“I, uh. I help the police clean the city of scum.”

“Oh. What, like a consultant or something?”

“Not exactly. I’m not, well, officially-” Diego’s eyeing the ceiling intently. “I’m acting more on my own.”

“Wait, so- You basically go out and, what, beat people up?”

"No.” He looks defensive for a fraction of a second, but then he concedes. “Well, yes? But the guys I beat have it coming.”

“I mean, okay.” Klaus leans against the padded cushioning in the booth. “Though I still think you can still have a career as a go-go dancer if you wanted.” 

_ Definitely _ a smile.

“That’s not my actual job; you know about the classes and all that. Now you. Should I guess too?”

“Nah, wouldn’t be fair. I’m, well, ‘in between jobs’ at the moment. Hence the whole broke bit. Right.” He pushes his plate away. “Shall we head home for naptime, then?”

Unfortunately, Diego was serious about sleeping - as soon as they reached the apartment, he brushed his teeth and went to bed, leaving Klaus on that awful couch, staring at the sad wall-mount and the wires that were poking out in a mockery of missed entertainment. And since Ben was there, he didn’t even have the luxury of their bickering; just the echoing of his own thoughts, that swirled around to the same subject they did lately. 

Diego. Who seemed oddly okay with his ghost problem, which Klaus wondered briefly if he should worry about. Diego who had this whole side-gig as a nighttime vigilante. Diego, who only seemed to want to help Klaus. 

Klaus wasn’t a stranger to the Savior type of guy - or girl, for that matter - he’s gotten caught up in that so many times that it stopped bothering him. And if he didn’t think about it too much, it could actually be fun - to be cared for and doted on. But the guys that latched on to him in their attempts to Pretty Woman him were never as well-intentioned as they outwardly let on. Some were aware of it, most weren’t. They just wanted to feel needed, to enjoy the illusion that they managed to change, to save the druggie whore, to make him clean and respectable. They didn’t really care about Klaus though, not really, and it was obvious that what they did was born of selfishness. They wanted Klaus at their feet, crying confessions of how they’ve changed his life, pulled him out of the gutter and how he owed them his life. But he’s not like that. He doesn’t need the charity, the pity. He can take care of himself - always could, always will.

This is why it’s so confusing, this whole thing with Diego. He seemed to want the same thing, to help Klaus, to save him, and yet- it was different. He didn’t do it for himself, for all that Klaus could tell. He didn’t seem to have a vested interest, he didn’t want to control him, he didn’t expect displays of gratitude in any form - be them verbal or physical. It was as though he was just a decent person, just like he’d said. Which was completely uncharted territory to Klaus. 

Thing is, Klaus always ended up leaving those savior-type guys. Always. And they were always surprised when he did - for some reason, though Klaus was never dishonest about who he was. They should all have known what would happen and it was their fault for expecting things to be anything else but what they were. 

This time, though? For the first time since he can remember, Klaus doesn't want to leave.

Diego sleeps, and Klaus keeps thinking about him. He’s right there, a few steps and a flimsy wall away, Klaus could get up and just- look at him. Which is weird, he gives himself that much, watching Diego sleep _ would _ be weird but god, he really wants to. Something is going on with him, he knows it but hey, if he doesn’t think about it it’s not really happening, right?

Klaus had pretty much camped at Diego’s place in an unspoken understanding and he was just about to go to his own apartment to get a few books, when Diego came out of the bedroom looking precisely how Klaus imagined a nighttime vigilante to look. He stops, following Diego’s movements with his entire body and he just takes in, with wonder and delight, what Diego is wearing. Combat boots, black leather pants, maybe he could do without the turtleneck but hey, the way that harness - _a fucking_ _harness_ \- crossed his broad chest like that? God _damn._

“What is  _ that?” _

“What’s it look like?”

_ Fucking hot, that’s what it looks like.  _ “It looks fucking hot, that’s what it looks like.” 

Oh well. Honesty was a virtue, wasn’t it?

Diego does not acknowledge him, and by now Klaus is not surprised. He’s delighted, though, at the ‘I can’t take a fucking compliment’ smile that Diego kept trying to hide.

“I mean- the leather, the harnesses; this whole thing you got going on? It totally works for me.” And for fuck’s sake Klaus, maybe have some filter with the blushing virgin.

“Right. Well I’ll be off. Obviously don’t wait up.”

“Happy skull cracking!”

Klaus sits curled on Diego’s couch with a book that he knows he’ll probably have to start acknowledging soon. He’s pretty excited about it, a generic bodice-ripper - he’d gotten to the romance section in the library and was enjoying it way more than he thought he would - but he can’t really focus. It’s in part restlessness, it’s craving. He hates the word, he hates the feeling, he hates everything about those moments, but he tries to will himself through and past them. It’s still hard, harder now that Ben’s not by his side to basically hold his hand through it like he did so many times. But he won’t be thinking of Ben; he can’t.

He finally manages to focus on his book and is taken on a wild ride across the high seas in a pirate ship with a frightfully competent woman and an exceptionally well-built pirate with a heart of gold. He  _ loves _ it.

Klaus wakes up in the sounds of the shower running. It’s still dark, but the night is slowly lifting when Diego comes out of the bathroom and goes to his bedroom. He leaves the door ajar, and Klaus- He doesn’t want to think too much about it. He gets up, his sheet wrapped tightly against himself, and walks over to the bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a second then goes to curl on the empty side of the mattress, right by Diego. He looks at Klaus with sleepy eyes, and Klaus can see the bloom of fresh bruises on his chest, faint lines on his wrists and he wants to ask if he was okay, if he’d been hurt, if he managed to make a difference like he hoped he would. He can’t, and Diego doesn’t seem to want to speak anyway - he just smiles softly and closes his eyes. 

“Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?” It's somehow easier to be honest, no pretenses.

Diego nods, so Klaus settles on his side, looking at Diego who seemed to have drifted to sleep, breathing softly against his pillow. He doesn’t know how it happened, how he ended up there, curled by Diego’s side in the blue light of sunrise. He thinks back and yeah, he can remember it all but that’s just the how, not the why. He needs to understand the why. 

  
  


Klaus startles awake with a sharp inhale, caught on the tail-end of a dream that dissipates as soon as he opens his eyes and a hand lands softly on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay.” 

Diego.

Diego was there, warm skin pressed against his back, knees pushed right behind his own and Klaus doesn’t know if he really  _ is _ awake. It feels like he is, but the warmth that’s humming through him lends itself more to a dream than to waking life. He turns to his back, and Diego is right there, looking at him and Klaus feels lost again, wondering if this is all in his dreams. His heart, his fucking heart of all things, does a funny thing that  _ aches. _

“Bad dream?”

“I guess. It’s gone now. It’s good.”

“Good.”

And god, it  _ was _ good. He hadn’t had that good a sleep in, wow, hard to even remember. It was good, it was cozy, and Diego looked absolutely unreal in the bright light coming through the windows, and he-

“I want to kiss you.” And Diego said  _ that. _

“Oh.” Fuck. Yes. 

Klaus’ hand reaches to cup Diego’s cheek as he leans up to kiss that gorgeous mouth. It’s a lazy, morning kiss, Diego’s hand cupping his jaw lightly and maybe it’s all the romance he’s been reading lately but Klaus feels- he feels a lot of the things he’s been reading about. Sappy and saccharine-sweet, overwhelming and just a little bit painful to think about. It’s all of that and yeah, it maybe scares him a bit, the vulnerability, but he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

Diego rolls and rearranges himself on top of him, his weight such a pleasant tether planting him into reality. It was real, he was awake, Diego was kissing him and he was getting hard, and Klaus just  _ wanted. _

He was a creature of many wants, Klaus. Of instant gratification, of comfort over reason. This should come easily to him, second nature, but he can’t seem to get past the knot in his throat. He’s still kissing Diego, dragging him back whenever he tries to break away, wrapping his legs around him and pulling him even closer. It doesn’t feel like a race this time, he wants to take his time.

It’s Diego who arranges himself so that his cock lines up right against Klaus’ as he grinds his hips, pulling Klaus a bit closer to the surface of his skin. He’s still inside his mind, trying to tell himself that no, it wasn’t _ that. _ It couldn’t be that. Klaus didn’t do _ that. _

“Pants-” Diego tears his lips from Klaus’, who chases and gently bites at the plump flesh of his bottom lip. “-off.” He moves away though is pulled back once more by Klaus’ legs pushing into his lower back. Diego laughs as he manages to escape Klaus’ thighs, stretching his legs to pull his sweatpants off, and yeah, gorgeous. Even with the scars and the bruises - he can see them better now and he wants to touch but then he gasps when he catches the glint of something shining against Diego’s chest. He pushes up on his elbows and then sits up when he realizes it’s a piercing - Diego’s pierced, and it both fits him entirely and feels a bit out of place and Klaus reaches out, brushing his fingertips against it.

“What’s the story behind this?”

“Why does there have to be a story?”

“There is one though, isn’t it?”

“It was more a bet with myself. I have-” Diego pulls his sweats off, throwing them away with a carelessness that Klaus did not expect but really respects. “I don’t really like needles, let’s leave it at that. So I wanted to prove to myself that I could go through with it if I wanted to. Plus, it’s kinda hot.”

“It is, yeah.” He lays back, waiting patiently until Diego’s straddling him again and he’s getting distracted by the way his thigh muscles swell when he moves. 

“Oh my god.” He whispers, in awe, and Diego looks at him with an out of place bewilderment. He can’t not know what he looks like, can he? Klaus shakes his head, of course he would, he just doesn’t do it for show. Which is, somehow, even hotter.

“You look even better than I imagined. And  _ yes, _ I imagined it quite a bit.” He leans to trace his palms across Diego’s thighs. “I bet you can suffocate a man with these; jesus.” He touches almost reverently, the muscles jumping slightly under his palms, and he slides them up and up and he sighs when he reaches Diego’s cock. “God, you’re gorgeous. Come here.” He beckons Diego closer, one hand cupping a firm asscheek to guide him forward until he has to spread wider as he straddles Klaus’ shoulders. 

Diego grabs for the wall in front of him the second Klaus wraps his lips around him. He’s cursing in Spanish - conveniently, as most of the words that Klaus can understand in Spanish are curse words - and it’s just so perfect he can’t help but smile. He loves giving head but Diego makes it easy with how engaged he was, vocally, moaning and cursing and trying to keep himself from pushing deeper, which is frankly the opposite of what Klaus wanted. He tries to signal that by keeping still and pushing Diego’s thighs, and he gets the message instantly.

He has a mouthful of cock, he’s working on instinct and he wants to be more in the moment, to enjoy it as he always does, but he’s distracted. There’s a pull at his chest and he really wants to ignore it but it tugs and tugs and he hates it. He chokes on a particularly deep thrust, the tears that had been pooling in his eyes rolling down now; and he never chokes, not unless he’s doing it for show, so he pushes Diego away. He has to say something; Diegos’ looking down at him, pleading eyes and swollen lips, and Klaus comes back to the moment.

“On your back. Now; just-” He hates this, hates it so much. He waves Diego off and he moves instantly, rearranging to sit on his back and Klaus lets out a deep sigh. Fuck. 

“Everything okay?”

_ Fucking hell. _ Klaus speaks, though he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. 

“I’m just trying to find a way to not die choking on your dick.” 

Diego flushes, a new shade of pink coloring his cheeks and yeah, Klaus hates it. He hates how gorgeous Diego looks, wanting, but maybe a shade scared too; how he looks at him with this wide-eyed curious look on his face that Klaus- he hates how much he loves it. All of it. 

But he’s here to suck Diego’s dick and that’s what he’s going to do, wild thoughts be damned, he’s here to suck a dick and he’s done this so many times he shouldn't even have to think about it. He crawls between Diego’s legs, shouldering them open, letting his palms roam again up those thighs until they reach his dick and he swallows it down. He’s good at this, he takes him down with just a second’s pause to breathe, and he almost moans when Diego bucks his hips and curses, face hidden in the crook of his elbow. He knows this, he knows how to do this, so he applies himself, pushing down until Diego’s cockhead is in his throat and he tries to swallow around it and gods; more curses. Klaus almost jumps when one of Diego’s palms lands gently against the back of his head - not keeping him in place, but almost caressing. Making contact, touching him. 

Klaus’ hands are settled on Diego’s stomach, and he can feel it clench and flutter under his palms, the ripples coming faster as he’s getting close. When he pulls out for air, Diego’s hips raise, instinctually seeking the lost contact, but Klaus changes strategies. He wants to taste him as he comes, so he licks his palm, wraps it around the base, working it in tandem with his mouth. It’s easier, it’s better, and he can see Diego better like this, he sees him lift his head to watch him, then throw his head back with a moan and a curse. 

“I’m really close.” He warns, as if Klaus can’t tell, can’t read it in the twitching of his muscles, in the tightness of his balls. He knows it and he very much wants it, so he works his tongue, a bit impatient, a lot excited. It’s sudden, the way Diego’s body tenses as he coils up, one hand finding Klaus’ hair and grabbing tight, and all he manages to say, with a surprised look, is a cut, “I-” as he comes, thick and bitter, across Klaus’ tongue. It’s the part he enjoys the most, the rhythmic pulses, those tense seconds of bliss that  _ he’s _ brought on.  _ He did that. _

“Oh my god.” Diego’s panting, chest heaving wildly as he weakly pushes on one elbow, his other palm now cupping Klaus’ cheek. “Fuck; you’re really good at that.”

“I’m really good at a lot of things, you’ll find.”

Diego smiles as he’s pulling him up for a kiss, still a little breathless, disheveled and looking like a fucking wet dream. He’s smiling through the kiss, leaning back to just look at Klaus before going back, kissing him with such bite that Klaus feels he might come just from this, from the heat of being wanted like that. He’s almost uncomfortably hard, uncomfortably wet in his sweats but conflictingly, he doesn’t know what he wants. 

Diego doesn’t seem so scattered though; he rolls them over, and again Klaus loses himself a little under his weight. He’s taken by surprise when Diego raises to his knees, hooking his fingers in the hem of Klaus’ pants and he catches himself laying a hand over Diego’s.

“You don’t have to-”

“Have to? Were you under the impression that I don’t want this?” He’s amused, not confused, not offended, which Klaus is thankful for. 

“Honestly until that night on my couch I wasn’t sure you weren’t straight, so, you know. I may not be the best at reading people.” 

“You thought I was straight and you still made your move?”

“Like it wasn’t obvious that you wanted me, I’ve seen you looking. You wouldn’t be the first straight guy I’ve pushed into some revelations about himself; I seem to have this effect on people.”

Diego agrees with a shrug.

“I’ve been with guys, if that’s where you’re going.” He is a touch boastful, a touch defensive. “It may have been a while but I’m sure nothing’s changed; not too drastically at least. Now, can I take your pants off or are we doing over the clothes stuff?”

Klaus lifts his hips in response and his sweats get thrown to the floor, and Diego comes back for another short kiss before sliding down. For all that he’s probably going to come the second Diego touches him, Klaus is not ready for this. It’s an image he’s seen in his head many times, in many ways, and yet he can’t seem to process when it happens - when Diego wraps his lips around his dick. 

It’s been a while since he’s done this sober and he’d worry that it might take a while, like it usually does, but this time he’s unbelievably close despite not even having touched himself. It’s strange to start so close to the finish line, and he wants to drag it out but there’s absolutely no chance of that happening. Not with how Diego looks in his eyes as he’s spitting in his hand and touching him with a firm and tight fist, a small twist as he wraps his lips around the head and starts moving. He’s not as inexperienced as Klaus had imagined, which he can’t really complain about; though he’s definitely not an expert. But that’s details, and details don’t matter; Klaus is really close, embarrassingly so, and against his better instincts he slows Diego down. 

The bigger picture is that it’s not just mechanics involved this time, Klaus knows it. There’s a whole other mess of things, things he’s been through before and has every reason to be apprehensive of. Things he doesn’t want to put into words even in the safety of his own mind, afraid to make them real. But they are, they’re real and yeah. Klaus fucked up. 

Diego moans around him and he’s so shamelessly getting off on it that it’s almost better than what he’s doing with his mouth. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, to see the way Diego’s lips drag around his cock, and how he closes his eyes and leans into Klaus’ hand where it touches the side of his head. What’s great about this time is that even if Klaus closes his eyes, it’s still the same thing that he sees in his mind, and the realization makes him laugh, a broken sound that ends in a moan.

He does open his eyes, unwilling to miss any of it, and he’s met with Diego’s gaze. He keeps this intense eye contact that makes Klaus shiver, eyes following Klaus’ as he takes his hand from where it was wrapped around his cock, and then slowly pushes his lips down. There’s something in the way Diego looks at him, a fiery ferocity that cuts through Klaus’ every thought. He feels it when he comes, he opens his mouth but is rendered silent, breathless with how Diego shuts his eyes, swallowing around him. He’s still coming, pulsing on Diego’s tongue and he can’t focus on one thing, feeling pulled under by the weight of it all. 

The little fucking death, how apt. 

His head's empty. For that one second, his mind is blank, it's quiet and he's  _ good.  _ But then he comes back to himself, trying to catch his breath, and it feels harder than it should be, when everything burns inside his chest the way it does.

Because he's done it, he’s definitely fucked up. 

He knows now, when he allows himself the understanding, with all that it means. It’s feelings, it’s  _ love, _ all sickly sweet and giddy good, butterflies in his stomach and burning hope in his heart. It’s new and full of promise, as it always is in the beginning, but by now Klaus knows that it holds inside the seed of heartbreak too. 

Diego gives him little respite, the determined, focused man, as he comes to lay right beside him.

“C’mere, baby.” Klaus feels the word in his gut, bloom and burn and spill over, and he kisses Diego, trying to go for sweet but failing. His brain isn’t doing much in terms of helping him, so he ends up resting under Diego’s arm, feeling oddly safe in that little Klaus-shaped space Diego’s made for him. 

“So, uh,” Klaus is still a bit dazed, a bit unfocused, but he manages to speak eventually. “Can I sleep here from now on?”

Diego doesn’t respond, he kisses Klaus and beckons him to the bathroom much sooner than either of them were ready for, really.

Things are a bit awkward, there’s stupid shy smiles from Diego, half-cut apologies when limbs bump into other limbs as they try to take a shower together and fail miserably at getting clean. They’re caught up in another make-out session, the tile shockingly cold behind Klaus’ shoulders where he’s pressed against the wall, when Diego’s phone rings. It takes them a while to untangle from each other, but no matter how much Diego tries to look like he’s rushing, the ringing stops by the time he’s back in the bedroom. 

He’s just wrapping up the conversation, dripping carelessly on the floors when Klaus joins him, handing him a towel. 

“Tell him that he owes me one. Yeah I know it was an accident - he still owes me. I had  _ plans.”  _ He throws the phone on the mattress and it miraculously doesn’t bounce off like it appeared to for a second. 

“Plans?” Klaus asks, coyly, and Diego lets his eyes roam up and down Klaus’ naked body.

“Yeah, I was thinking I could find out what other things you’re ‘really good’ at.”

“Well, that can mean a whole number of things. I’m pretty crafty with a pair of knitting needles, you know.” 

_ “No me jodas. _ You know what I mean.” 

“Wait, I know that word, ‘jodas’, it’s ‘fuck’, isn’t it? Are you saying you planned to-” Klaus leans back, making a very crude gesture with his fingers. He very much hopes he’s right.

“That’s not exactly what I said but basically yeah, those were the plans. But we’ll have to take a raincheck, I have to cover for a class. In thirty minutes. So-” He grabs Klaus’ face, pulling him in for a kiss, then takes the towel and starts looking around.

As Diego’s stuffing things in his workout bag, Klaus starts to think of things to do until he returns - other than jerk off, of course, which he plans to do as soon as that front door closes. How long was that class anyway? The thought is chased out of his mind when Diego leans in for a kiss right before he’s out the door. 

First order of business, he goes to his place and retrieves the lube and condoms, rehoming them under Diego’s mattress. With absolutely no ulterior motive, obviously. He’s forgotten all about his plans when the book he was reading catches his eyes. He hasn’t finished it and even though he had a pretty good idea of how it would end, he sinks back on the couch, engrossed in the purplest of prose. 

He doesn’t get to finish the first page before he feels something change in the air around him. Something so familiar that it makes him stop everything, holding his breath. 

Ben.

Ben was there. 

Impossibly, he was back. 

Klaus scrambles to his feet, looking around until he sees him, standing by the window. He looks surprised, looking at his own hands, then at Klaus.

“Oh my god. Ben!” He’s stunned into a small panic, not knowing what to do or say. “I’m so sorry, I’m so,  _ so _ sorry. I didn’t know what I did, I don’t know why I acted like that, I had no idea what I was doing. Are you okay? Where were you? Oh my god.”

He doesn't consciously remember how to manifest Ben, he just does it on instinct so it takes him a while until Ben’s there, really there, shimmering blue and looking relieved. They start for each other at the same time, meeting in a hug that’s maybe tighter than it should be, but Klaus can’t help it. They only hugged a couple of times since he managed to make Ben corporeal, and now he has to ask himself why. He’s so relieved, he might be crying when he finally lets go of Ben and looks at him, still a bit incredulous. 

“I thought I’d- That you were- gone. For good. That I've done something. What happened? Where were you?”

“I. Don’t know. You did... whatever the fuck you did, and I sort of fell? For the longest time, then there was nothing.” He looks around. “Where are we?”

“Oh. At Diego’s.”

“Why?”

“Wow, it’s been, what? Six weeks? Seven? A lot has happened.”

“It’s been over a month?”

“Thirty-two days sober. Wild, huh?” Klaus relaxes, sits on the couch then stands up instantly, resuming his pacing, then stops and cups his face in his palms. “Diego’s going to freak out.” 

Ben’s a little cautious when he asks, “Why?”

"I told him about,” he waves small circles around him, “the ghost situation. And he knows you died.”

“He knows?”

“Yeah.” Klaus can’t believe it either. He unleashed his full craziness on Diego, and he didn’t throw him out. “There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was my favorite chapter so far.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “Sure, I’d love to meet your dead brother.”
>> 
>> Diego was prepared for a mental breakdown; what he wasn’t expecting was that it would be his own.

Diego has to cover for a beginner’s class, which is a blessing since that means he probably won’t bite the mats too often. Which isn’t to say that he doesn’t, just that - he does it on purpose. Mostly. 

He hits the showers as soon as the class is over, and heads right back to his car, tossing his bag on the passenger seat. The drive home is done mostly on auto-pilot, knuckles tight around the steering wheel as he’s willing himself to get soft again. 

He wasn’t expecting things to turn out the way they did and that was on him, really; expecting anything when it came to Klaus. For example, what he expected was for Klaus to run away again, not to end up in his bed early in the morning, and to work his way in Diego’s arms.

He woke up spooning Klaus, his palm burning where it lay across his bony chest, and his sleepy daze cleared instantly when he realized what was happening. So many other things should have taken precedence, but all he could think of was how he was touching Klaus, how he could feel his breath press back into his own chest, how he was there, in his arms, like a gift he never dared ask for. 

And then - and then. Diego felt a shiver run through him at the memories of the morning, because as many things as that was, it wasn’t a rebound lay. 

He’s just gotten out of a long term relationship. He was still healing, subduing all that lingering anger, he was still redefining himself. He had shit to work out; he shouldn’t get involved in this, in anything like this. Diego knew it, and still couldn't stop.

At the end of the day, Klaus would probably leave. Hell, he’s more likely to leave than to stay, but that only makes Diego want to prove to him even further that he has a reason to stay - or to come back. And as they did so often the past couple of weeks, his thoughts slip back to Quentin - _ Five _ \- and how he eventually found his way. He wants that for Klaus, and he wants to be the one who’s there for him. 

Klaus placates Diego as soon as he sets foot back in his apartment, and he’s happy, with an energy to him that Diego hasn’t seen in a while, one that only now does he realize that he’s missed.

“How was class; good? Good. I have,” he is all smiles, bouncing his fists in excitement, “I have some news. Good news.”

Diego’s tired - the good kind of tired, the one that amps him up, not the kind that leaves ripples that can be felt for days - so hey, good news and Klaus? He has to hear it.

“Alright, so. You know how I said Ben was gone?” Diego nods carefully, because it wasn’t at all where he thought the conversation would go. “Can you sit down, please? This is a sitting down kind of situation. No--” Klaus points to the other end of the couch and Diego reluctantly complies. “Good. So you know how I said that Ben was gone? Turns out he’s back.” 

Diego doesn’t know how to react. “Okay?” 

“Would you like to meet him?”

Diego almost managed to forget about the whole ghost business until Klaus drags it all out again. Even though he feels he’s about to open the floodgates to a possible mental breakdown, he plays along. 

“Sure, I’d love to meet your dead brother.”

Diego was prepared for a mental breakdown; what he wasn’t expecting was that it would be his own.

Because Klaus, he stands before him, closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and Diego can almost swear that there’s a faint blue glow swarming around his balled fists. He doesn’t have the time to process that information because the next thing that catches his eye is a silhouette appearing on the far end of his couch.

He turns and his ears are ringing because -  _ intruder, _ first of all - that isn’t a person, not in any way other than the human shape and human features. It’s shaped like a man, sure, but it’s also see-through blue and almost shimmering. 

“What. The  _ fuck?”  _ Diego’s not aware of speaking the words but they’re in his voice and he starts to shake as he scrambles up and back, trying to put as much space between himself and the strange apparition. 

“Fair reaction.”

It speaks, of course it does. Wouldn’t be nearly as terrifying if it didn’t.

“What?” He feels mind-numb, trembling and he’d be more ashamed of his reaction were it not for the fact that there appeared to be a translucent spectre smiling at him from his own couch.

“Hi, I’m Ben. His dead brother.”

“Are you okay?” Klaus asks Diego, the previous light on his face now changed to genuine concern and Diego thinks of all the ways in which he is not okay, and fortunately Klaus seems to understand. 

“Sorry; I- Maybe should have eased you into it a bit? Somehow; I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve manifested Ben with someone else present-”

“Second time.” Says Ben, and Diego feels just a little bit of his brain seeping through his nose when he’s reminded again that he’s there, and he’s speaking. “There was also that time in the alley.”

“Yeah, okay; the first time I’ve done it on purpose. Are you okay?”

“Stop asking me that.” He isn’t, he’s very far from okay. He feels like throwing up and wonders if you can be consciously aware of losing your mind, because he sure felt like he’s losing his.

“Would you like me to go? I can go if that makes you feel better.”

“No, just-- I don’t know. Are you really here?”

Ben thinks, and it’s so strange to see how he wrinkles his nose even though Diego can still make out the rest of the room behind him,  _ through  _ him, and wow, he’s getting light-headed. He goes to the kitchen counter, drags out a chair, and sits down. 

“I mean, I  _ am _ here. I can touch stuff; look.” He takes Klaus’ book, flipping demonstratively through the pages. “Though it’s obviously different from how you and my idiot brother are here.”

“Hey, what did I do?”

“I think you may have broken him, that’s what you did.”

“Did I break you?” Klaus turns to Diego and from his tone he feels like he expects a different answer than the one Diego can give.

“I-”

“I mean, sure. I can see how this whole thing can be a bit--”

“Terrifying?” Diego fills in. “Insane.”

“I was going for ‘overwhelming’, but. Hah - told you.”

“What?”   
  
“You know; when I said that this whole thing is insane but  _ I’m _ not. I, Klaus Hargreeves, am not insane.” He declares, taking a bow, but Diego isn’t sure he’s right. What if they’re  _ all _ insane? 

“Okay, you guys should probably talk about this amongst yourselves, I’m off.” Ben looks at Klaus. “Though you and I still have some things to discuss.”

_ “Tschüß!” _ Says Klaus to the empty air where Ben just dissipates, like he was never there to begin with. He turns to Diego.

“Are you okay?”

“Seriously, stop asking that, you know I’m not okay, how can I be okay? That was your dead brother. Who’s a ghost. And dead. And he was here, flipping through books and looking-- all blue and shit. What the fuck, Klaus? What the fuck is going on? How can you do this? Why? Why did you have to do this now? Or at all? I mean. What the  _ fuck, _ man?”

Klaus, infuriatingly, just smiles, before hugging him. And there, in the crook of Klaus’ neck, he feels safe, for just a second, from all the madness. 

“Do that again.” 

“What?”

“Ben. Bring him back.”

“Are you sure?” Diego nods, even though he doesn’t know if he's really sure. Maybe if he sees it again-

But then Ben’s back, looking surprised to be there and no, it’s not at all better.

“What?” This time Ben’s also confused and it makes Diego feel just a little better that he’s not the only one who doesn’t have a single clue about what’s going on.

“Diego misses you already.”

Ben narrows his eyes at him. 

“This isn’t show and tell, you know.”

It kinda was, not that Diego had the presence of mind to articulate that. It takes Diego a few minutes and a cold glass of water to feel like he’s ready to engage Ben again. Ben, the ghost. He’s sitting cross-legged on the couch and Diego feels like there’s not enough space between them, still.

“How are you here?”

“Like- the mechanics of it all? Or why? Because I have the same answer for both and you won’t like it.”

“And you died when you were sixteen, why do you look pretty much our age?”

“Yeah well this whole thing didn’t exactly come with an instructions manual so I can’t really tell you anything. I’m sorry.” 

“So you just- appear and disappear when Klaus, what. Conjures you?”

“I hate that word.” Klaus also pulls out a chair but he doesn’t sit, he paces a little and worries at his nails. “We settled on ‘manifest’. And it’s a new thing, mind you; months. Before, I was the only one who could see Ben and let me tell you, that thing got me into a few uncomfortable situations--” 

Diego doesn’t let him ramble. This is about Ben.

“And where were you gone? Klaus said that you were gone for a while.”

“You’re really going for the big questions there, Diego.” Ben smiles, uncomfortably. “I don’t really know where I was. It felt different than when I usually go.”

“Um-” He swallows, dryly, but Ben seems to know what he wants to ask.

“I sometimes just pop off and leave Klaus to it. He can be… a lot sometimes.”

“And-” It’s difficult to find words, because what words are appropriate for this situation? “Where  _ do _ you go? Like, do you go to the afterlife? Heaven and all that? Oh wow, is heaven real?”

“Hah, well I don’t exactly go anywhere in particular. It’s like- blinking? Really long blinks. As for heaven or hell, I can’t answer that. I suspect I’m still here precisely because I got stuck before going to the afterlife, whatever that might be.”

Diego nods like he understands. He doesn’t, but he still asks questions that either Ben or Klaus answer with so much ease you’d think they were talking about the weather, and not the afterlife and other ghostly affairs. So no, he may not understand everything that they’re saying but he starts to enjoy watching the two interact, bicker and banter and act very much like siblings do. He’d like that, Diego thinks; it was never like that for him and Luther. They weren’t that close - all their father’s doing, who loved nothing more than to pit them against each other. And as much as they may have tried to change that, there was still a cold chasm between them that made Diego envy the bond between Klaus and his brother. 

“Do you know your brother let me believe, for the longest time, that you two were  _ partners?” _ Diego tells Ben, who’s both amused and taken aback.

“Partners? Like-”

“Yes.”

Ben turns to Klaus, who smiles sheepishly. “What? I thought you wanted to get in his pants, how did that make  _ any _ sort of sense?”

“I didn’t- Fuck off. That’s all on Diego. And you know what? Diego here thought that you were hitting me. You know, domestic abuse and all.”

“What?” Ben’s laughing, and for a moment Diego almost forgets that he’s- whatever he is.

“Your  _ idiot _ brother here-” Diego starts.

“Hey!”

“You guys really need to learn to communicate better.”

“You know what? You’re right. I like you.” He genuinely seems to like Ben. Sure, there’s still a small possibility that he’s having some sort of nervous breakdown because  _ ghosts aren’t real, _ or maybe he’s in a coma on a hospital bed somewhere, or- He feels dizzy, for just a second, and - holy shit, did Ben just glitch? His entire body vibrated and flickered out for a fraction of a second, then was right back like some cosmic-level weird-ass shit wasn’t just happening.

“I think he’s spiraling again.” Ben. He speaks. Of course he speaks, he is the talking ghost in his living room.

“Oh my god.” Diego remembers what Klaus told him, that day, about the ghost of the former tenant that’s apparently also sharing the space with them. Because if Ben is real, then a whole host of other ghosts are roaming free and-

“Diego. Look at me.” Klaus crouches to face him, holding his wrists and forcing eye contact. “Breathe with me, okay?”

Diego nods, and eventually calms enough to settle his breath into an even rhythm.

“Ben’s gone, okay? It’s just us.”

“And Mr Bell? You said-”

Klaus holds his breath for a second and Diego knows that yeah, there’s also the ghost of the former  _ dead  _ tenant, the one whose DNA had seeped into the fucking floorboards under their feet. He’s dead, and he’s there, and- 

“Fuck’s sake!”

“I know, right?” Klaus agrees, pointlessly and possibly not even to the same thing, then lets go of his wrists. “Okay, let me try something.”

It surprises Diego quite a lot when Klaus turns his back on him, facing a corner, and then blue light swarms around his fists again. He doesn’t let it show, or maybe it’s just that his face ran out of emotions for a while, but he just watches Klaus quite possibly perform fucking magic in his living room. And he’s awake, he knows it now; he’s awake, he’s not insane and that whole... whatever it was, was actually happening. 

Klaus eventually relaxes with a sigh, then turns around slowly.

“I have no idea what I just did.” 

“You’re not the only one, bud.”

“But Mr Bell?” Klaus continues, and Diego notices the genuine surprise in his eyes. “He’s gone. I think I somehow helped him move on?”

“What?”

“He’s not here anymore, and he won’t be back. And I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Cool.”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! Are y- What do you need?”

“You mean besides the world to make sense? I don’t know. Sleep. Definitely sleep.”

He doesn’t dare verbalize it, even in his own head, but he really hopes that by morning everything is back to normal, or that it all somehow starts to make sense. 

Klaus curls on the mattress beside him - Diego can’t wait for the bed to finally come - though he leaves some space between them, and Diego appreciates that. Predictably, Klaus doesn’t remain silent for long. 

“I’m still  _ me _ though, you know?” He turns to Diego, hugging his pillow to his chest. “I’m sorry for-” He gestures around the pillow. “For all of this, basically. Please tell me I didn’t break you.”

“I’m gonna need some time, though. To take this all in.” _ Ghosts. _

Diego doesn’t say it but there’s a small part of him that understands, to a certain level, why Klaus fell into drugs when  _ this _ is what his life was like.

Diego tries to sleep, he really does. He tries to clear his mind, to relax his muscles, all the tricks he’s tried before with varying degrees of success, but every time he thinks he’s close to drifting off, the image of Ben briefly glitching on the couch comes to mind. Or the one of Klaus, spine straight and head lowered, with that blue haze swarming around his fists. 

His entire life had gone increasingly off the rails since he met Klaus. The most out of the ordinary thing about his life used to be his night-time vigilantism, and even that seems entirely plebeian now. He was just an ordinary guy, with ordinary failures, an ordinary frayed relationship with his family, an ordinary kind of heartbreak. He had problems, sure, but they were nothing like the universe of fuckery that Klaus had brought in since their lives intersected; with his half-truths and full lies, his dead brother and other assorted ghosts. 

A wiser man would back away. Cut ties. Probably skip town just to be sure that the whole mess doesn’t follow him. There are probably a lot of things that a wiser man would do - but as Diego’s found out, he’s not wise; not when it comes to Klaus at least. He’s hooked. Drawn in to such a degree that even if he wanted to pull away, he couldn’t. Not that he wants that, and Diego’s aware that it doesn’t make sense, but instead of pushing away, all he wants to do is pull Klaus closer.

He turns to his back, sighing deeply, and there’s a shuffle beside him as Klaus squirms closer.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?”

Diego shrugs. “You know when you said, ‘it’s been a day’? Well, today’s been several.”

“I’m sorry about that, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine, I understand why you did it. I just wish it wasn’t all so- terrifying? Mad?”

“Tell me about it.”

“I can’t not ask, but is Ben here right now?”

“Nah. He stays away when I’m with someone. I, uh. He may have seen a bit more than he was ready - and definitely willing - to see. Since then he’s been able to sense when there’s a metaphorical sock on the door.”

He’s apprehensive, but Klaus is so calm, so matter of fact that he relaxes a bit.

“You really should sleep; don’t you have a class to teach tomorrow?”

“It’s not until the afternoon and I think I’ll call in that favor. I don’t think my mind’s in the right place right now.”

It wasn’t. His mind hasn’t been in any sort of order since he’s met Klaus. He’s mentally exhausted but resigned in the realization that he actively welcomes all of it, for some reason. He turns to face Klaus and that empty space between them feels smaller now.

“You’re really something else, aren’t you?” 

Klaus shrugs one shoulder, smiling impishly. Diego can barely make out his face in the dark but he can see when Klaus gets his hand in his own, threading their fingers together and placing a kiss on his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I change tenses more often than I change socks, and I'm quite industrious with changing socks.
> 
> I also changed a bit of this chapter right before posting so apparently that's how I roll now. Wheee!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > When the footsteps settle in front of their door, even before there’s the sound of keys rattling in the lock, Klaus perks up from where he was reading. He’s doesn’t even notice that he’s holding his breath until he lets it go once the door opens. It’s Diego, he’s there, he’s home, and Klaus can’t stop the smile that spreads on his face. Diego smiles back, easy and beautiful and honest, and Klaus feels both lucky and strangely unworthy to have someone look at him like that.

Klaus woke up in many places over the years, some of them far more lavish than a mattress in an otherwise empty room, but none of them, absolutely none, compared to waking up right next to Diego. And they weren’t even touching this time, they were just inches away and facing each other, and Klaus could just  _ look. _ So he does. Diego’s asleep, looking soft in the bright noon light, his skin a golden glow that Klaus has to stop himself from touching. He’s still heavy with sleep himself and doesn’t trust his fingers not to shake and touch if he tries to hover over the white cut of that scar like he wants to, so he settles on just looking. Diego’s barely covered by the sheet he’s pushed off during the night, peaceful and gorgeous and for too long and Klaus gets hung on a thought, his breath syncing with the rise and fall of Diego’s chest. 

One thought, splintered in little fragments, all orbiting around one theme - could this— could this be  _ good? _ Could it actually end up well? That’s not what usually happens to him, and yet, ever the hedonist, Klaus used to throw himself into anything and everything that felt good. It didn’t matter if it was getting high, being barefoot, or just fucking; Klaus did everything that felt good at the moment, and he did it with enthusiasm. He feels none of that now, he feels calm and warm and fucking fuzzy. There’s something in Diego that he finds so captivating, and it’s something so basic it shouldn’t even register, but— Diego’s an adult. He’s a grown-up with responsibilities and a job and a family and a bunch of other shit that he  _ deals with. _ Klaus never had that, he coasted through life with a smile and a cheer and zero acknowledgment of consequences. 

This time feels different entirely. 

There might be consequences, and they may hurt, like they always do, and he’s acutely aware of that now. He wants it, though, whatever it may bring, but he doesn’t throw himself into it - he doesn’t feel that sense of urgency, the need to scratch that itch. Diego’s not that, he’s not the breakneck hurtle into heartbreak, he’s the slow walk spent hand in hand, a journey to a common destination. It’s good. It has to be. 

He breaks away eventually, peeling himself up and off the mattress, and he hates leaving Diego but— he needs his sleep. He’s earned it, the break from this new world he was now in, the one where ghosts were real and one of them - Ben - was quietly reading on his living room couch as Klaus is heading to the bathroom.

“Is he okay?”

Klaus can see Ben leaning against the bathroom door, looking around curiously. Klaus rinses his toothbrush, watching the water swirl away the last of the white foam. He nods.

“I mean, I think so. He didn’t literally kick me out of his bed last night, which is promising.”

Klaus, who was pretty proud of his ability to think on his feet and who didn’t really believe in preparing for something, understood perhaps for the first time the importance of thinking things through before doing them. In retrospect, he probably should have eased Diego into the whole ghost side of things rather than smashing him headfirst into it like he did. 

“If he doesn’t completely freak out, he’s a keeper.”

Klaus puffs a laughter right into the towel he has his face buried in, scrubbing softly and maybe breathing in just a little bit, curious, needy to catch a remnant of Diego’s scent. His face itches all over when he looks up at Ben.

“He’s a keeper even if he does freak out. Will he want to keep  _ me, _ that’s the question.”

  
  


Ben’s invisible when Diego comes to the kitchen - Klaus wouldn’t want to plunge him right back into this whole new side of things, not first thing in the morning, not when everything was still new and raw. But Diego’s obviously been thinking about it even without having any visual reminders - it was naive of Klaus to assume otherwise.

“Morning. Is, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, looking around. “Is Ben here?”

Klaus thinks to say no, for just a second, but then he nods, pointing his head towards the other side of the counter, where Ben was leaning. Diego had walked right through him on his way to the fridge, but Klaus would never tell him that.

“Hi Ben.”

Ben beams, so surprised by the acknowledgment, so hungry for it.

“Hi!”

“He says hi back, predictably. But Ben has to see a ghost about a thing, don’t you?” 

“No I don’t.”

“Yeah, he says that he’d love to stay and chat but sadly, he has to go.”

“Fuck you.”

“Shame, really.”

But Ben gets the not-so-subtle hint and pops out, his frustrated grunt lingering in the air before he fully fades away.

Diego doesn’t comment on Ben’s comings or going and instead pours some milk over his oats, then offers the bottle to Klaus who waves it away. 

“Far from me to look a horse gift in the mouth,“ Klaus starts, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be at all far from him to complain about anything and everything, “but your fridge is empty and your pantry is a joke. I thought you baked? You don’t even have flour, and even I know that you need flour to bake. You need real-people food.”

Diego hums, unplugging the toaster to plug in the coffee machine. 

“Sure. You can get anything you like. I have my class in an hour or so, you can go shopping then.”

“But I’m broke.”

“Speaking of, what  _ do _ you do for a living?”

And holy shit, Klaus should really learn to think before he speaks because he’s pretty sure he’s started a whole thing that he absolutely does not want to get into. He’s torn. Because, on the one hand, he really doesn’t want to keep things from Diego anymore, and on the other, the truth is rather unsavory. He settles on the bits that are less so.

“I used to, ah, model.” Diego looks at him with an eyebrow raise. “Don’t think catwalk, more like catalog stuff. Or rather magazines. Small circulation, really. Uh, niche stuff.”

“Did you have your clothes on for any of those pictures?”

“Wow, bullseye question. In some, yeah. I guess you could call them clothes.”

“Jesus.”

“Hah, actually, one time - it’s a really funny story—”

“Look, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’ll pay for groceries, we’ll go shopping once I’m back. I was thinking that you need an activity; something to keep you busy. Routine and all that, you know what I’m saying.”

“Yeah.” Routines. Keeping busy. All that shit that came after rehab. All that shit that he was never any good at. “Well, I don’t really have any of my old contacts, and I’ve been out of that world for a while so it may take me a second to find a gig, but I’ll stretch my feelers.”

“If you want to do it, sure. We can always think of something else. Want to come to the gym with me?”

“To the gym?” 

Diego shrugs, like he didn’t just suggest that Klaus works out. He does not work out. Okay so maybe he does some yoga from time to time but he doesn’t do  _ gyms. _ He tells Diego that much and settles on reading until Diego returns.

  
  


He doesn’t even get to the end of the first page before Ben fizzles in. It hasn’t been that long since that was his life, his  _ normal, _ to have the ghost of his brother just pop in and out of his life, to hover around silently or to bicker with him endlessly. Klaus felt it all the sharper now, Ben’s presence. It’s a cliche, sure, but only after he’s known the terrifying emptiness of Ben being gone does Klaus realize just how fucking _ unusual _ this all is. 

Ben doesn’t move, he just looms in the middle of the room, where he appeared, scrunching his nose.

“It’s taking me a while to get used to this apartment. I know it’s basically the same but my brain still takes me in the wrong direction.”

“You get used to it.”

“So you’re moving in? What about our place?”

Ben was, even in death, the responsible one. But it was still Klaus - or rather, Klaus’ charm and wit and ass - that made it so their rent was paid for until the end of the year. Ironically, he went from ‘bed-surfing’, which was his way of not using the word ‘homeless’, to having some sort of steady accommodation. So that place, the one that until not long ago only had the tangible absence of Ben, was barely - if at all - in Klaus’ mind. 

“We never really talked about it.”

“Well, maybe you should?”

“What, wouldn’t you like to have your own place?”

“I don’t need my own place. Wait, are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No?”

“You’re trying to get rid of me. So you could be with your boyfriend. I can’t believe this.” But Ben’s smiling, Klaus can hear it in his voice; he’s smiling as he sits on the couch, gathering his knees up. “Diego seems like a really good guy.”

Klaus nods. He can’t believe it either, the way he and Diego just settled into this, without ever properly addressing what they were doing. Of course they should; it was the proper, adult thing to do, but Klaus was just a tiny bit afraid that maybe if he brought it up, maybe Diego will realize the mistake he’s made and the whole bubble would burst. 

“I should probably find a job,” Klaus says, and Ben turns to him, slowly, eyes wide in surprise. 

“That has to be the first time you said those words in that order.”

“Yeah well, for once I’m feeling inadequate with basically being a kept man.”

“I thought you didn’t do jobs.”

“I know!” Klaus groaned. “Who’d take me. Or rather, what could I do that wouldn’t make me want to kill myself?”

“With that attitude? You could definitely become a motivational speaker. Or a life coach.”

“Fuck off.”

Ben’s visibly invested in the discussion, like he always is when it comes to Klaus doing stuff. ‘Good’ stuff, never the things that Klaus  _ really _ wants to do.

“I don’t know. What do you like doing?”

“Well you know what I like doing and you also know that around these parts it’s illegal to do it for money. Also, I think Diego might take an issue if I went back to that.”

“There must be something else you like doing. Something that involves you keeping your clothes on?”

“I like reading. Oh, think I could work in a bookstore?”

“You know that working in a bookstore isn’t sitting around all day, reading, right? You have to actually work and stuff.”

“How would you know that?”

“I’ve been in bookstores.”

“So have I.”

“Yeah, but you were either reading or shoplifting, I’m sure you were paying less attention to  _ what _ the employees were doing than to _ where they were.” _

Klaus thinks back and has to agree. And books, they’ve always been his way to escape reality for a few hours, to comfortably inhabit new worlds, and to forget his own life. His library card was, to date, his most prized possession. So maybe he doesn’t actually want to associate books with working, potentially ruining it for himself.

“Or I could go back to modeling.”

“‘Modeling’,” Ben does the air quotes, and it is pretty appropriate in the context of Klaus’ career. Klaus still hates it.

“Whatever. I got paid and I didn’t have to fuck anyone. I mean, not to say that I didn’t, but I didn’t  _ have _ to.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure that makes it better. Anyway, I said something where you get to keep your clothes on.”

Klaus has a brief flash of a memory from one of his modeling gigs, when the leather-daddy stuffed teddy that he was basically humping had on more clothes than Klaus did. Even Diego, forgiving and so fucking  _ chill _ as he was, would probably mind that sort of thing, even just a bit. 

“Okay, fair enough. Although I wonder if he’d be opposed to seeing some of my old work.”

“Would you  _ like _ him to see some of your old work?”

“Not if you put it like that, jeez. Well, I don’t know. We’ll keep thinking of something.”

Ben is suddenly right by him on the couch, looking soft and calm, smiling and unmoving.

“How are you?”

_ Oh fuck,  _ Klaus thinks,  _ The Question. _ Klaus hates The Question. How  _ can _ he be? Sometimes he feels like climbing up the walls, other times he feels like scratching right at his brain. It’s hard, of course it is, with that ever-present  _ need _ settling over him like a large storm cloud, stealing his attention so often. But he made it this far, and now that Ben is back he feels like maybe he can make it for longer. He has other incentives too.

Not the ghosts, he hates those. He hates every minute of it. But even they seem to touch him less these days. Everything inside him is shiny and bright, a ball of warmth in the middle of his chest that’s dulling all the ugliness around him by a fraction.

“I’m okay. Mostly. But yeah, it’s hard to keep busy sometimes. And Diego keeps odd hours, what with his nightly patrols.”

“Right, so we need to find you something to do until you get a job. The library? Meetings for sure. Maybe we could work on your powers too? You clearly can do so much more than you’re aware of.”

“Ben—” So much has spilled already, the weight of the things kept unsaid pressing down all the heavier now. It feels unfair to keep things from Ben now - now that he knows what it’s like to not have him by his side. He doesn’t want to feel that ever again. “No more possessions though.”

Klaus can see the resigned disappointment in his eyes. Ben has to know, he has to have some sort of self-preservation instinct that makes him wary about trying that again. Klaus hated hurting Ben, even when he knew that he was doing it, even when he was aware that he was being selfish, prioritizing his pain over the one he caused Ben. This time, however, he hated that look in Ben’s eyes even more, even though he put it there only because he wanted to protect him.

No more possessions. And as far as working on his powers- Ben needed to know, to understand. It’s been so long, but Klaus has already gotten the words out once, he can do it again.

“Remember when I brought you back? The mausoleum?”

“You know I don’t remember much from those first few days, I only know what you told me. Why?”

“That mausoleum was-” It was hell. Downright torture. He’s hugging his knees on the couch, so much of his mannerisms mirroring his brother it was hard to tell who was mirroring whom. It almost physically hurts, the idea of putting it out there - especially to Ben. He breathes out, a shuddering, shaky breath, hoping the words will pour out with the air.

“The lab visits with Reginald. The ‘training’.” Klaus spits the word with spite. Ben surely knew that something was off, even then, but Klaus; he never said anything. He always covered for Reginald, and he couldn’t tell whether it was him being protective or him being ashamed. He stares at his nails for a while before finally speaking.

“You know, he used to beat me.” 

“I—” Ben tries to speak, but Klaus cuts him off. 

“He always made so sure our schedules never matched, especially after the first time he dragged me out of that place and you were in my room. You know he later asked me if I’d told you? I should have known, I should have said something, anything. To anyone.” He’s playing with the bus pass that he uses as a makeshift bookmark, folding it and unfolding it until the paper rips. “He only took me to the lab the first couple of times, then it was this cemetery, to his family’s mausoleum. He used to lock me in there, in the hopes that I’d learn to control my powers.” 

Reginald was a sadist; there were no excuses for how he treated his ‘children’, his own little experiments. He only cared about results, like he so often told them, pushing both Klaus and Quentin before him to the point of breaking. He didn’t care about the methods employed as long as it got him what he wanted.

“I guess it was his way of throwing me in the deep end, hoping that I’d be forced to learn to swim. Forcing me to face the ghosts; so,  _ so _ many ghosts. I always got out of there terrified, and for my lacking performance, I got the cane. He was an awful old man, so obsessed with his research that he didn’t care about anything else at all. He didn’t—”

“Klaus, I’m sorry—”   
  
But Klaus cuts him off once again. It wasn’t Ben’s fault.

“We were kids; we had no way of knowing any better. He took advantage of us. It’s all  _ his _ fault. And this whole thing, he just— he took it and made it uglier. And that’s quite a feat, to make this supreme shitshow even worse, you know? I don’t want to see ghosts - present company excluded, of course - and I want even less to do it on command. So any desire to learn how to control it died in that mausoleum, with Reginald’s ‘training’. So you understand why I’m— apprehensive to try.”

"Shit Klaus, I’m— Why didn’t you ever tell me? I could have— I don’t know. I could have done something.  _ We _ could have done something.”

Klaus can’t say it. It sounds stupid now, in its misguided innocence, how he thought he was protecting Ben. How he thought that it was a good environment for his brother. 

“Look, we can do it differently. No cemeteries, for starters. Let me know what you need, and we’ll do it. When you feel up to it.”

He’s been sober for a little over a month, so he didn’t feel up for absolutely anything. Anything that wasn’t getting high, that is, and that was out of the question. However— He did something to Ben, something decidedly  _ bad, _ but something different. Something new. Just like he did something with Mr Bell, Diego’s ghostly flatmate, helping him move on. He’s never done that before, and yet he fucking did it on the first try. So maybe - well almost certainly, since it was Ben who said it - Klaus could do more if he  _ tried. _

“You know what I told you about the dead guy in Diego’s apartment?” Ben nods. “Maybe I could try that again.”

  
  


When the footsteps settle in front of their door, even before there’s the sound of keys rattling in the lock, Klaus perks up from where he was reading. He’s doesn’t even notice that he’s holding his breath until he lets it go once the door opens. It’s Diego, he’s there, he’s home, and Klaus can’t stop the smile that spreads on his face. Diego smiles back, easy and beautiful and honest, and Klaus feels both lucky and strangely unworthy to have someone look at him like that.

“Hey, baby. Did you have fun while I was gone?”

Klaus has to shake the small shiver that ran through him at the sweet endearment. He tries to look casual, stretching wide.

“Oh, you know, as much fun as one can have with Ben. Catching up, making plans.”

“Um, is he here now?” Diego looks around the room, eyes settling on the couch, which in all fairness was a pretty good bet. “Hey, Ben.”

“No, not at the moment. Would you like me to get him? I’m sure he’d love the company, guy’s only been talking to me for the past decade and a half, I’m sure he’d be grateful for the chance to change that.”

Diego seems to think for a second, breath held, before he releases it with a nod.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

So Klaus does. It’s not conscious, he just thinks of Ben, and he pops in. 

“Diego wanted to say hi.” 

The dinner is spent chatting, and Diego actually pulls out three plates before he thinks better and puts one back. He seems more and more at ease around Ben, and Klaus’ heart grew to see them getting along. Neither of them really thought that Ben might ever have this again, that he might form bonds with other people, and it made sense to think that it would take a while to learn to do that again, but Ben fell back into it with such ease. For almost as long as he had been alive, Ben was a ghost, and it was strange to see him just… being Ben, but for someone else. For Diego.

Diego, with his big, brown eyes and with those god damned cock-sucking lips, and the sounds he made deep in his throat as Klaus barely kept from fucking his face. Diego with his soft,  _ ‘can I kiss you’ _ , and his coy confidence. Diego with his mouth open in shock and a hint of fear at the sight of Ben. 

  
  


They haven’t done anything since that morning, and Klaus feels strange as he sits down on the mattress by Diego. Still, they share a long kiss and Klaus  _ aches _ when their lips part and Diego says good night and rolls on his side. 

Surprising absolutely no one, Klaus can’t sleep. He wants to sleep, he resolutely tells himself that _ he will _ sleep. Eyes closed, thoughts fuzzy, breathing in, breathing out, relaxing. Turning to his left side. The itching in his calf turns to torture the more he tries to ignore it, so he shifts to itch it, gaining temporary relief, until he realizes that he has to pee. Does he? He turns to his right side, closing his eyes tighter, relaxing angrily. He can do this, it’s just sleep, he’s  _ trained _ for this. He once fell asleep against a speaker twice his size in a club - standing up, no less. He blinks against the darkness. It’s so quiet, now that Mr. Bell’s gone. His whole body starts to pinprick in a sparkling full-body itch, so he huffs, turning to his left side. 

There’s shuffling, and Diego turns over, looking at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Sorry, I can’t sleep; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t asleep either. Talk to me.”

“It’s— you know. It’s usually like this in the beginning. Sleep’s hard. The schedule in rehab was nice and all, but my body didn’t always get the memo. I spent many nights just counting shadows. And ghosts; more and more of those guys. Still no Ben, though, back then.”

“I know that my non-conventional hours are not in line with any normal schedule—” 

“Actually, I rather enjoy your non-conventional hours.”

“But if it’s a schedule you need, regular night sleep, I can, I don’t know. I can stop going out on patrol for a while, help you settle into a new rhythm.”

“Don't. You don't have to do this.”

“I want to.”

And it’s the fact that they never discussed what they were doing, what they were, while Diego still acted like that, like he  _ cared _ , that fucks Klaus up even further. It’s not the first time that he fell for someone, but it’s alarming how easy it all feels.

“Diego, I— I'll be fine. I get my sleep when you get yours. Really. Don’t allow the city scum to do their dastardly business just because you think I need to sleep at night. I’m well accustomed to going to bed at dawn.”

He was. He prefers to remember the fun times, when he was the center of attention, the shiny new toy for someone he chose, not the times he got his too-high ass thrown out in the early morning with the rest of the sad fuckups. 

“Actually I’ve been thinking about it for a while; going on patrol. Maybe I should take a break.”

“What? Why?”

Diego rolls to his back, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.

“I’ve been at this for so long, you know? Eudora used to hate it, she always told me that the only thing I managed to do was to put myself in danger but I never saw it like that. But lately, it feels like no matter how often I go out there, no matter what I do, nothing really changes. The city’s just the same. I pluck one off the streets, the next night there’s two taking their place. Some nights I’m not sure it’s really worth it.”

“But you do catch some, don’t you?”

“Yeah, most nights.”

“Then you  _ are _ making a difference. And if that’s what really matters to you, it’s the right thing to do.” 

Diego turns back to him, eyeing him with a surprised look, face lighting up as if he’d said something right.

“It’s strange, someone else told me that once. I don’t know. Okay, say I go on patrol as usual, what will you do? You can’t stay up waiting up for me.”

“Nah, I can; don’t worry about me. I’m more of a night owl anyway. Plus, I have Ben, we might try working out how to control this whole ghost business. And I’ll sleep when you sleep.” _ Or not, _ he thinks. He hopes. “Then when you have classes you can drop me at the library, it’s on your way. And meetings, I guess I’m doing meetings again.” He guesses - he  _ knows _ he has to, and he will.

“Did you discuss this with Ben?”   
  
“Well, I did mention we were making plans.”

“Speaking of plans - the furniture’s arriving tomorrow.”

“Furniture?”

“Yeah, we’ll finally have a bed.”

“Wow.” That’s all Klaus can say, still locked on that casually thrown ‘we’. Maybe—

Maybe it could all be alright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, channeling S2 Diego: I made grammar my _bitch._
> 
> Narrator: She didn’t.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cocks, docks, and everything in between.

Diego’s pulling up in front of the building just as Klaus was finishing his cigarette, stubbing it in the ashtray by the steps. He can see Klaus say something, and Diego knows by now it’s probably to Ben. He gets in, turning to the back seat with a smile before buckling himself in.

“How was the meeting? Sorry I was late, it took forever to shuffle the furniture around.”

Klaus left in the morning, deciding to spend the day at the library until he went to his meeting. In truth, he wanted to stay home and help Diego with the furniture, but Diego shooed him away, feeling this strange little need to surprise Klaus. 

“Don’t worry, I kept myself entertained. I stayed behind, hoping to get at least one of those stale doughnuts, but those people are vultures, I swear. It was… somewhat less boring than I expected. And this time I didn’t confuse any ghosts for living people, which is always a plus.”

“And before that? What masterpiece of literature are you reading now?” 

The books Klaus is reading are ridiculous - sappy romance novels that Diego finds generic and, frankly, cringe-worthy - but as long as Klaus is enjoying them, he can’t really object. And it’s not like he’s very invested in keeping track; he just asks because as much as he hates it there’s still this small grain of worry inside him that Klaus might have somehow slipped up.

“Oh yeah, the library. I didn’t even get in. There was this woman - well, the ghost of a woman - right outside, and she was so lost. She wasn’t bothering anyone, she just… stood there. I spent all morning with her, and eventually I got her to acknowledge me. Consciously, I mean; she talked to me, she even noticed Ben! You know, most ghosts avoid Ben, I think he confuses the fuck out of them so they just gloss over him and hone in on me. So yeah, I spent a nice morning talking to a surprisingly pleasant dead woman.”

Diego’s focused on the road ahead, unsure if he has to respond to that, and if so, how. Ghosts were real, Klaus spoke to them, one of them was possibly currently in his backseat and while Diego actively tried to somehow wrap his mind around the whole thing, it was still a reality that he found hard to get accustomed to. He never knew what to say when Klaus was talking about it. Fortunately, Klaus didn’t seem to need any input from him.

“I think I want to go back, maybe try and help her move on - you know, like I did with Mr. Bell in your apartment. I should probably try that at a time when there’s less foot traffic, though. Can you drop me by one of these nights, before you go on patrol?”

“Is it safe?” He feels oddly stupid to ask that, but since he still can’t gauge how things actually work with the whole ghost business, he hopes it’s a fair enough question. It’s important to him, anyway.

“So far ghosts could never physically touch me so I’d say it’s pretty safe. And you’ve already seen me do what I plan to do, with Mr. Bell. Wow, I think I saw more of the guy when he was dead than when he was alive; who knew my weird-ass neighbor would help me actually work out something about my powers?”

“Is there anything that I could do to help?”

“Just drop me off at the library before you go on patrol. I’ll try a couple of things, and Ben will be there.”

“Sure.” 

  
  


When they’re finally home, Diego stops Klaus just as he’s opening the door.

“Are you ready?”

Klaus nods, steps in and Diego can see his face change, turning from curious to pleasantly impressed as he takes it all in. He didn’t get a lot of furniture, just a coffee table, some floor cushions for the living room, and a proper bed and a dresser for the bedroom. The couple of plants that Grace suggested ‘to liven up the place’ did so wonderfully, but he still wasn’t sure if they looked right where they were, framing the window. He’s fiddled with the plants more than with anything else, and he would absolutely move them back to how they were before were it not for Klaus’ positive reaction to them. 

“Not exactly the newest TV, but it will do.” Diego points to the wall and the TV hanging there. “I’ll probably put up some shelves too, at some point.”

“I didn’t get to ask, when _did_ you go furniture shopping?”

“A couple of weeks ago, I think? Grace came with me.”

“You took your _mom_ furniture shopping?”

“So?”

“I don’t know.” Klaus’ face lights up, a new look that Diego instantly warms up to. “It’s just… so precious. And I mean-” Klaus gestures around. “This doesn’t look like it was furnished by someone’s mom. This _suits_ you.” 

“Thank you?”

“This doesn’t even look like an apartment from _this_ neighborhood.”

“Right. Well, I’ll tell Grace you appreciate her eye for interior design.” 

Klaus turns to him, and even though Diego thinks he’s accustomed to the many emotions that Klaus’ expressive features could paint, he couldn’t really read that at first. 

“I’m about to be very forward - and Ben, I guess this is your cue -” Klaus waits for a few seconds, then takes a deep breath, lips curling as he fixes Diego’s eyes. “Please fuck me.”

Diego’s eyebrows shoot up because —there _was_ such a thing as being too forward, and then there was Klaus. He looks at him, the way he stands tall and proud and not even a little bit coy in his request, and Diego can’t hide the mix of admiration and surprise as he briefly considers his options for a reply. He finally settles on a rightfully confused, “What?” 

“I really don’t know how much more clear I can be with that, to be honest.” And —fair enough. “I want this, I know _you_ want this.” 

“Really. You know that?”

“Don’t you? Want this, I mean.”

Of course, of fucking course he does. It’s ridiculous how much he wants that, but it still feels like it’s wrong to just... go along with it. Not without a fight, at least. 

“I’m sorry, did the thought of me going shopping with mom get you going? Cause you have to admit, that’s pretty weird.”

“Look, it’s not the mom thing at all - and wow, I just realized it’s not the first time I’ve had to say that phrase, which is frankly unsettling - it’s unrelated to any of that. Although, that? You went furniture shopping with your mother and I bet you didn’t, even for a second, think that it was weird.”

“It wasn’t.”  
  
“I know it wasn’t, that’s what makes this perfect.”

“And what does that have to do with, uh. With us fucking?”

“Oh, nothing at all, I think I said that already. I’ve been thinking about doing this since that morning. Well, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but after that morning it became possible. It became real. Please tell me I wasn’t reading this wrong?”

Diego shakes his head. No use to anyone in denying it.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. Plus, you have an actual bed now. Yay!”

Diego considers it, mostly because he wants it to look like he’s giving it some thought, but then grabs Klaus’ hand and leads him to the bedroom.

They’ve done nothing but kiss and paw at each other, lifting shirts and half-dragging zippers. Compared to their last time, this was tame. And yet, Diego sees this shift in Klaus’ face, the way it happens mid-kiss and all his rude overconfidence melts into careful haziness.

Klaus’ hands are burning against his spine, under his shirt, and he’s straddling Diego, grinding his hips, hard under his tight pants, right against Diego’s stomach so Diego flips them over, pinning him under his weight. Klaus’ hair has grown since the first time they met, it was a bit longer now, a dark, messy halo framing his sharp features, and Diego runs his hands through the curls, unwinding one until it slips from his finger and springs back. 

“You’re so god damned pretty, you know that?” 

Klaus looks up at him, lips bitten red and eyes glazed over, and he _is_ pretty; a disheveled, beautiful thing, sprawled out under him, chest rising and falling slowly with his heavy breaths. He smiles at Diego and he feels it echo in his chest, right where Klaus’s hands are now pressed. It’s probably endorphins, who knows what cocktail that’s brewing in his brain, but Diego feels like he’s about to burst into little pieces when he looks at the beautiful man beneath him.

It takes them far too long to get naked, Klaus throwing his top to a completely different place the rest of the clothes and arranging himself on the bed when Diego reaches for the nightstand.

“Oh yeah, those,” Klaus says, sheepishly, when Diego pulls out the lube and the condoms he’s hidden under the mattress. Diego managed to find them before the movers came, and he was a little bit thankful for that.

“A bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?” He’s teasing, but Klaus seems uncharacteristically embarrassed. 

“I mean, a girl can dream, right?”

Diego huffs a laugh, ripping a condom from the row and tossing it to a pillow. 

“Yeah, I’m a regular dream come true.”

“I’ve had worse dreams,” Klaus says, before cringing slightly. “Come here and kiss me before I say some more embarrassing shit.”

“You can say whatever you want. Plus, you kinda called me a good dream so by all means, let it all out.”

He does give Klaus a brief kiss, breaking away to ask, hot in his ear, “What do you want?”

“You.”

He hums, and the vibration sends a shiver that he can sense running through Klaus. 

“Don’t be coy now; you literally just asked me to fuck you. What do you want?”

“I want you. In me. Please?”

“On your belly.” He pushes up and off of Klaus, nudging him to turn, but Klaus hesitates, breath caught in his throat. “It’s easier that way. Or you can go on all fours; that’s also good, but I suspect your knees will give out at some point and you’re gonna end up like that anyway.”

“Who’s presumptuous now?”

“I mean sure, not everyone’s into rimming.”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought because Klaus turns, sticking his ass up and off the sheets.

Diego caved to the hot clenching in the pit of his stomach and has one hand around his dick, stroking himself lazily as he stretches Klaus out, fingers and tongue making Klaus moan beautifully into his pillow. 

“Fuck, I’m ready, I’ve been ready a while; please fuck me or I’ll come like this.”

Diego removes his fingers, making Klaus jump when he’s coming back just a second later with his tongue. He lands a playful smack on Klaus’ asscheek before he’s urging him to turn to his back. 

He’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at Klaus sitting back on the pillow so he crawls right back on top of him and between his spread thighs, catching his lips in a messy kiss. He’s welcomed with calves that wrap around his back, palms that hold his face sweetly, a broken-hurt look and precious moans. He’s welcomed in, and the context may be skin-deep - they’re about to fuck - but it feels somehow heavier than that. Klaus, this strange force of chaos, powerful and vulnerable, he’s right there, pulling Diego in with breathless moans spilling from the hot slip of his tongue. And it’s probably not the best time for his brain to finally formulate the thought with this much clarity, not minutes after he’s had his tongue buried in Klaus’ ass, but — he’s pretty sure that it’s not just chemicals in his brain, not in the way his chest feels like it’s opening up when he realizes, when he understands. When he knows _what_ this is.

It’s too soon, that’s what it is. 

And he’s far from being a connoisseur of the human nature, even further from understanding love - his sporadic row of exes attesting to that - but Diego can swear, he can almost swear that Klaus? He’s feeling it too. 

God, he hopes he’s right. Klaus, who’s looking at him with blown-up pupils, breath coming shallow through his open mouth; Klaus who’s silky-skinned and hot under him, hands raising goosebumps on Diego’s back where he’s trailing his fingertips up his spine, cupping the back of his head and pulling him back into a kiss. He thinks he understands it now, the bite in that kiss, in the way he’s breathing hotly against Diego’s cheek as he fights between saying something and keeping his mouth on Diego’s.

“Diego--” It’s all he’s allowed to say because Diego doesn’t let him speak; instead, he kisses him, swallowing his words with his lips. He feels around the pillow for the condom, then sits on his haunches to roll it on as quickly as his suddenly uncoordinated hands will allow. He lays right back between Klaus’ thighs, drunk on this new feeling, this new filter making everything brighter.

“Yeah?” 

Klaus nods, and it’s hot in the bony curve of his shoulder where Diego presses his head as he pushes his cock right in. It’s scorching hot as he sinks in, and so tight; he’s screwing his eyes shut and he feels, stupidly, that this changes things somehow. Klaus is giving him a look like he hurts, but he moans so pretty, turning his head against the pillow. 

And it’s not just that he’s with a guy after quite a while, though that’s it’s own rush, there’s no denying. It’s the fact that it’s _Klaus._ He’s writing under his weight, trying to meet Diego’s hips, pushing against the headboard for leverage, and Diego gets distracted, gets lost by how beautiful he is. He’s open and so vulnerable, a string of moans pushed out with his breath by every thrust, and when he looks at Diego, when their eyes meet, Diego can’t help it. He goes in, catching his lips once more, feeling a different kind of shiver run through him when his tongue slips, wetly, against Klaus’. 

It’s different, it’s different from all his other lovers, it’s even different from their last time - their first time, when Klaus got himself in Diego’s bed and, he can see it now, burrowed his way into his heart. It’s ridiculous, he thinks as he’s pushing up on his hands, with Klaus’ thighs wrapped tightly around him, drawing him deeper; it’s ridiculous how he’s fallen for him. 

Klaus is hot everywhere their skin touches, collarbones jutting sharply as he twists, one hand still pushing against the headboard while the other drops to grab his cock. Save for the hurt little noises he’s making, he’s silent; even when he looks at Diego with words that seem stuck in his throat. And that, the way Diego can feel the heat in Klaus’ movements, how there seems to be this imperceptible cocoon that envelops them both thickly, it’s that thing that emboldens Diego, that makes him sure. 

There’s a shrill ringing in his ears when he’s aware that he’s close, and he’d warn Klaus but when he opens his mouth, so does Klaus. He opens his mouth, a crease cutting between his eyebrows and he lets out a wispy moan, shuddering slightly with his whole body as he comes, his fist brushing Diego’s belly with every stroke. It’s perfect, he’s perfect; he’s beautiful and open, unguarded but still so fucking complicated and —Diego comes before Klaus gets to catch his breath, with his head buried in Klaus’ shoulder, where he can smell his skin and hear his heartbeat.

***

The heating in the car is useless, so Diego turns it off, keeping an eye on the road. The docks are a fair distance away, but he chose that place for the night’s patrol because he knows it’s a place where he’s always bound to find shady people doing shady business. So, yeah; it’s close to Eudora’s precinct, but he’s not heard anything on the radio about the area so maybe he’ll be lucky enough to not bump into her or any other police officers. Eudora. It all seems so far away now, and it’s been - what? not even two full months. 

Things with Eudora started slowly; they were friends for the longest time before things changed and the feelings got deeper. She used to tease him, later when they had gotten together, about how long it took him to realize that she was into him. They took it slow because it felt right to do so, and the fact that they were friends first made Diego think that it would only strengthen their relationship. In a way, it did; that friendship still remained, to some degree. But no matter how slowly they took things, how much he tried to communicate, and to follow all the relationship crap that she brought up, there was always some friction. Now, with the little bit of objectivity that time allows, Diego realizes that maybe they were never supposed to be more than friends. Sometimes it’s like that. 

He tried, though. He worked for it. That’s why it stung so much when it didn’t work out.

Klaus, however- Klaus crashed into his life, a disaster on lanky legs, deep into fighting his own demons; hell, fighting everyone, even himself, even Diego who just wanted to offer a hand. They were obviously attracted to each other so they probably would have ended up fucking anyway, but this? Feelings. Not even complicated feelings - ghosts aside - just… feelings. It didn’t seem like any of them were ready or particularly open to having them and yet- And yet. 

Diego is in love. Not the sappy kind, not like in his teenage years, he doesn’t see himself agonizing over whether Klaus reciprocates. He’s older now, rougher around the edges. More practical, a little cynical too, so love in his thirties isn’t a swarm of butterflies and giddiness, but a solid thing, it’s a certainty. And he’s not worried about Klaus’ feelings, as strange as that may be. The years and his past obliviousness to love helped him see it better now. Maybe Klaus isn’t in love, or maybe not like Diego is, and that’s fine. Grace told him long ago that he has enough love in him to share freely, and he’s sure that he’ll have some of that left if they don’t work out. But he sees something in Klaus, he can actually _feel_ it, and he’s not all that afraid.

Weirdly, it doesn’t feel reckless. It feels… good.

So he’s distracted. He’s dropped Klaus off in front of the library so he could work on something with a ghost, and god damn did that whole thing still mess with Diego’s mind. Klaus saw ghosts, he _had power_ over ghosts. Diego’s even seen all that in action, and it would still take him a while to fully get on board with it all - but he’s trying. 

Shit, the docks. Diego leans over the steering wheel, trying to gauge how to get back to where he was supposed to go because apparently he’s been driving aimlessly through the town. He used to do that right after the breakup so it’s not a new thing, but he still hates it. He hates being this unfocused, this unmotivated about something that used to be so important to him, something that used to be a big part of who he was.

He takes a few turns and drives through one of the seedier parts of town. He’s not looking to stop here, he’s set on the docks, but then he sees something that immediately makes him pull over. It’s instinctual, he doesn’t consciously know what he saw, but he trusts that mental click and he unbuckles his seat belt, then his harness, pulling it over his head and throwing it onto the back seat. He can’t say why he’s doing that, he feels naked without his knives - especially in a place like that - but he trusts it will all make sense sooner or later. He locks the car, looks both ways, and lands on the other side of the street in a few hurried steps.

There, that’s what he saw - a few feet into an alleyway but still close enough that the streetlights illuminated them, were a tall man bracketing a kid against the wall, his head hanging low between his arms as he’s looking down at the small figure. Diego’s approaching them and he can’t hear what they’re saying, he can’t even make out the kid’s face too well, but he knows deep in his gut that he’s not safe. He straightens his shoulders, making sure his voice is heard.

“Oh god, there you are. Your mother and I have been looking all over for you!”

The kid - he can’t have been older than twelve, maybe thirteen - looks at him and Diego can see the muted terror in his eyes. He offers his hand and the kid takes it, following him without a word as Diego pulls him away from the irritated man and they walk away from the alley. He doesn’t know where they’re going but he’s not stopping, not looking back. He’s talking, hoping to god that the kid won’t pull away, won’t run, and that the man from the alley isn’t following them. He scolds the child gently, “Don’t ever do anything like that, okay? We were so worried.” until he’s sure they’re out of earshot. 

Two streets and a couple of turns over, Diego stops, looking around - they weren’t followed. He drops to one knee, finally looking at the kid.

“I’m Diego. Did you know that man?”

The kid shakes his head, brushing away the golden bangs that flop onto his eyes.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Diego’s blood boils just because he has to ask that question. Humans were garbage; and he really hoped that the kid says no - fortunately, he does.

“Do you need me to help you find your parents?”

At this, the kid’s entire demeanor changes. “No,” he’s agitated, pleading, “don’t —I —I ran away. Please, I don’t want to go back there.”

“Okay,” Diego says, and he’s analyzing his options. The police, CPS - until he remembers. Allison. Allison and her ’Claire Skies’ foundation that she was managing; they helped with such cases, with runaway kids. It was an organization that Grace often donated to - Diego thinks it was her gracefu _l fuck you_ to his father, to be spending so much of her inheritance on selfless causes, a perfect antithesis to who her husband was. 

“Have you ever heard of Claire Skies?” The kid shakes his head.

“It’s a foundation that helps children that run away from home. Just like you. I know someone there, I can give her a call.” 

It’s difficult, echoes of ‘don’t talk to strangers’ running in his head as he tries to show the kid that he means him no harm. The Claire Skiles foundation isn’t far, but it’s still quite a walk, and he’d offer to drive there but he can’t even imagine how terrifying the offer might be for the kid. He didn’t even give Diego his name, still guarded, cowering just a little as he stands in front of him.

“Or we can go to a police station, there’s one right at the end of the street-” Diego doesn’t even get to point in the right direction that the kid is shaking his head.

“No. They’ll call my parents.”

“Not if you tell them what happened.”

“No, please. The other thing, the skies thing. You said you knew someone there?”

“Yes, Allison. She’s the chairperson - well, she’s the one in charge, basically. She’s, uh, she’s dating my brother. She’s really nice. Claire is her daughter,” from a previous marriage, but the kid doesn’t need that level of detail, “I can give her a call and she’ll meet us there if you want. Do you want that?”

The kid ponders, then nods, still looking at his own shoes but definitely not taking off. And, fuck, the shoes - Diego suddenly remembers Quentin and has to wonder, though it never clicked in his mind before, whether Grace started donating to them precisely because of Quentin. He gets up, offering the kid his hand without even thinking.

“It’s a good fifteen-minute walk, you up for that?”

Once he gets a nod, Diego pulls out his phone and calls Allison. He knows it’s late, but he also knows that, especially in this case, Allison won’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, I don't know if anyone's keeping track, but I seem to have just added chapter 14 to this - it was only planned to be 10 chapters long ~~what even am I doing.~~ The last chapter's playing hide and seek with me, and my ever-helpful brain keeps thinking that being up until 4AM to write fics for my ~other fandom is condusive to finishing this but yeah, it's ✨ not helping! ✨ 
> 
> And I want to thank everyone for the lovely comments, they feed me (and help me!) and I love each and every one of you and I'll reply to all of them once my brain decides to cooperate with me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > The itching in his bones had a name, a reason, and Klaus knew them both.

Klaus was pulling down his t-shirt from where it had ridden up during the impromptu makeout session he’s had with Diego in his car. It was supposed to be a small goodbye kiss, but somehow -  _ somehow _ \- it turned into a whole thing, leaving them both dazed enough to need a couple of minutes to get their breaths back. 

Ben was waiting for him on the sidewalk, having popped out of the car the second he understood that it would take a while, and he was just beginning to walk towards the woman when Klaus spilled out of the car, still fixing his clothes. 

“Sorry about that,” Klaus said, though he was absolutely not sorry. He was giddy with excitement, possibly not in the right frame of mind to talk to any formerly-living person, but set to do his best nonetheless. Getting laid always got his spirits up, and after that afternoon with Diego, Klaus felt like he could ride that high for a week. 

He took a deep breath, rubbed his palms together, and nodded at Ben.

“Ready?”

The woman was calm - she’d been calm since the first time Klaus had seen her, just standing on the side of the road, swaying slightly from side to side as if moved by an unfelt breeze. She wasn’t screaming like most of the other ghosts haunting Klaus, she didn’t seem particularly interested in him even after she’d seen him, and maybe that’s what piqued Klaus’ interest in her.

That evening too, it took her a while to acknowledge Klaus - to truly acknowledge him, to respond to him, to interact. At first, she simply stood there, with her head tilted and her shoulders slumped, looking right through the cars passing in the street in front of her as Klaus spoke to her -  _ at _ her. Slowly though, she visibly awoke, turning towards Klaus, studying him before she spoke. 

Klaus had heard way too many of these stories, and yet every new one still managed to carve itself into his soul. And it was hard not to let the heartbreak overwhelm him but, for the first time, he listened instead of being forced to hear. When he spoke, right before she became detached from this plane once again, it was to tell her that she was dead. 

Klaus stood by her for a long while, but she had apparently forgotten all about him. After a lot of standing, he stubbed out his cigarette with his boot and went back to the library stairs, sitting down on one of the steps. Ben sat a few steps behind, a silent observer - the woman, like all other ghosts, did not seem to be interested in him - and even though Klaus could not see him, he still felt his presence. 

Ben was there, the familiar feeling to wrap this whole new shape of things. Everything was changing. 

He was working on his powers, and it was his own idea for once, not Ben’s. Ben, whom he’d almost lost - a possibility that had never even occurred to Klaus. Ben, who now knew everything. Ben, who’d  _ been _ there for everything, except for these past few weeks, when everything started to change for Klaus. Ben, who didn’t know one thing—

“I think I’m in love with Diego.”

Ben didn’t say anything and Klaus didn’t really have anything else to add. He was looking at the woman, the way she stared right through the passing cars and down to a patch in the road, and every once in a while she swayed, slowly, side to side. She’d been like that for over an hour, and Klaus wasn’t sure if she’d be back at all. Klaus startled when Ben finally spoke in his soft, gentle voice. 

“You should let yourself enjoy this. No matter what you think, you do deserve it.”

And while Ben was usually right, that was one thing that Klaus had doubts about.

“Yes, you do,” Ben said right as the thought formed in Klaus’ head. “And no, I can’t read your mind, but I know how you think. Also, I hate to break it to you, but you’re pretty obvious.”

Klaus did turn to him this time, because— _ what? _

“No, I don’t know whether Diego knows; some men are really, really oblivious to these things. I know a couple like that, myself.”

Before Klaus could ask what he was really saying, the woman started speaking again. He didn’t quite catch her words, but it seemed like she was back.

“I suspected, you know.” The street was deserted and her voice, though soft, started reaching him. She sighed, turning slowly toward Klaus. “That I was dead. Sometimes, at least. But I can’t do anything about it. I don’t know how.”

Klaus pushed up from the stairs and walked to her. He couldn’t know for how long she’d be like that so he had to move fast.

“I can help you. Or rather, I can try to help you. Would you like that?”

For a split second, it seemed like she was gone again, her eyes going hazy, looking right through Klaus, but after a blink, she was back.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” Klaus said, and it didn’t feel like he was lying. “No, it won’t.” If it was anything like Ben said, she was safe from that type of hurt now.

“Okay,” she said, and Klaus began to focus.

The woman was gone when Klaus opened his eyes. It was quiet in the late night, there were no cars, no people. No sounds from the buildings surrounding them; there was an unnatural stillness that seemed to have stopped even the wind in the trees around them. No ghosts.

There was Ben, but Klaus knew then - Ben wasn’t like them. Ben wasn’t really in their world; Klaus had pulled him out, closer somehow. Again, he didn’t need to turn to know that Ben was still there, on the steps. He was standing, looking at Klaus, and Klaus had one irrational thought, one thing that bothered him for so long but he was never aware of it, not consciously. Ben was quiet too.

“I wanna hear you breathe.”

Klaus turned to see Ben watch him, confused.

“I can’t breathe. I don’t need to, but mostly, I can’t.”

“I want to  _ make _ you breathe.”

“What are you saying?”

“You’re right, I should work on my powers some more. Who knows what I can achieve if I really try.”

When Diego picked him up, in the early hours of the morning, the first thing he said was, “Did I ever tell you about ‘Claire Skies’?” and Klaus didn’t get to tell him about the woman. Diego’s story clearly took precedence.

The TV was on, showing some boxing match that Diego insisted he wanted to watch but forgot about completely when Klaus made the mistake to ask him about his workout. And if Klaus wasn’t already worked up before that, he definitely was after Diego’s demonstrations of a few exercises in his routine. It was right about the point where Diego demonstrated how to ‘properly’ do squats that Klaus began to suspect that he knew what he was doing, but then he went on, genuinely going through his routine. Which was fine, it was interesting to watch for sure, but not at all what Klaus wanted. Never a subtle one, Klaus got on his knees on the couch cushions while Diego was mid-sentence, talking about some technique or other, and he put his finger against Diego’s lips.

“What?” Diego managed to ask around the digit. 

Klaus thought ‘show, not tell’ as he took Diego’s hand and wordlessly, boldly placed it over his erection, where it did nothing to ease the strain in his pants - quite the opposite - but was definitely worth the heady shiver that overtook him when Diego’s fingers instinctively curled over his dick. 

“...here?”

“I mean, here is fine? I'm here, you're here, most importantly, your dick is here. Please put it in me.”

“The lube and condoms aren't here.”

“Well bring them here.”

“Come to the bedroom?”

“I'd rather come right here, thank you very much. Make me wait and I'll start without you.”

Much to his credit, Diego got up and headed to the bedroom, coming back a minute later with the lube and a condom, and without his shirt. 

“I have to say, you’re very demanding.”

"Oh no, poor you,” Klaus says sarcastically. “Can I suck your dick?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Klaus was grateful that Diego hasn’t changed that oversized couch, since it was wide enough for both of them to kneel comfortably as Diego fucked him into the backrest with all the stamina expected from someone with his training regimen. 

“God—  _ damn— _ Diego,  _ fuck!” _ he’s dropping his head on his arms, breaths punched out of him with every thrust. “Holy shit.”

“Anything constructive to add?”

“No, no. You’re good. So good. Oh god, please don’t stop.”

“Now why,” Diego pulled out almost entirely then thrust back in, “would I do that?”

Klaus grabbed his cock, starting to jerk himself, forehead buried in the couch cushion.

“I'm gonna—”

“Oh don't you  _ dare _ come on this couch.” He pulled out, taking Klaus' hand from where it was pumping around his cock, pulling a whine out of him.

“What are you doing?  _ No—” _

But Diego got up, tugging at Klaus’ elbow, making him shakily get up from the cushions. He stood up, wobbly until Diego settled him with a rough palm on his shoulder.

“Can you stand? Wait, it doesn't matter.” Diego sat down on the couch, leaning back until his shoulders hit the back cushions. "Sit."

Klaus lowered himself carefully, Diego’s hand guiding his hips while the other held his own dick, helping him sink back down. He set the rhythm then rest his hands on Klaus' waist, letting him do most of the work. It was a strain on Klaus’ thighs, he was definitely going to feel the burn later, but for now, he was focused on steadying himself against Diego’s knees as he worked himself up and down his cock. 

“Come on, baby.” Diego wrapped his hand around Klaus’ dick, bringing him right back to that edge. The burn in his thighs wasn’t Klaus’ particular brand of pain, but he pushed right through, feeling himself drop right on the other side. He came just like that, with his hands shaking against Diego’s thighs, spurting thick ropes against Diego’s hand and the floor below. The silent  _ o _ on his lips turned into laughter even before the last drops landed on the floor. 

“Fuck—” Diego’s hand grabbed his hip, a vise mirrored by his other hand, sinking in almost painfully as he thrust upwards once, holding Klaus down to a grind. His thighs were trembling under Klaus’ own, still giving the odd twitch as he came with a breathless moan.

“Fuck baby, you’re—” He didn’t finish his thoughts, pulling Klaus back until he was resting on his sweaty chest. They went for a kiss but the angle made it difficult so Klaus tried to get up, his knees reminding him painfully that he remained a twink only in spirit - a  _ tragedy. _

“I,” Klaus said, bracing himself against Diego’s knees and getting up slowly, “I really admire your misguided respect for this particular piece of furniture. Though, really, it can be cleaned. Also, I hope you don’t imagine that this would be the first bodily fluid this couch has seen. People are  _ gross.”  _ And he didn’t just mean himself, who’d definitely had to clean his own jizz from the cushions when simply turning them didn’t do the trick. “And you have your bare ass on it as we speak. Just sayin’.”

***

It was evening, and Klaus was getting restless. Ben was crouching over a book, cross-legged on ‘his’ end of the couch and invisible to Diego, who sat on the other end, cleaning his knives. Klaus looked over at the two of them from the barstool he was precariously perched on, with one foot pressing hard on the footrest while the other was folded on the seat, propping his chin. Everything was calm, pleasant. _ Domestic. _ Even the couch of sin was now  _ tamed _ by the two.

Klaus wasn’t built for this domestic life and the complete switch from partying all night and doing all the drugs to reading all night and doing  _ none _ of the drugs was precisely where he used to fail all those other times. 

Everyone was lost in their little world, whether it was turning pages or carefully sliding the blade against the sharpening stone. 

Klaus just wanted to run away.

The itching in his bones had a name, a reason, and he knew them both. He still felt like he’d suffocate if he didn’t take off, just as well as he knew that, this time, he had a reason to stay. He set his book on the table and unfolded his legs without toppling over with the whole chair like he was sure he would. As soon as he safely had both feet on the ground, he got out of that infernal chair, looking at Diego.

“I know I’m supposed to be all about schedules and routines, but how about we take a small break from that and do something fun for once?”  _ I need to get out of this place,  _ he thinks but can’t seem to use his words right. “Come on, you need a little  _ less _ structure in your life. More spontaneity. Let’s go, I don’t know. Let’s see a burlesque show. “

“I’m out on patrol tonight.” 

“But you really need a bit more variety, mi amigo.”

Diego set the knife on the table, straightening his back. 

“What's the next level after dinner and a movie?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve done that already.”

Diego scoffed but didn’t comment, and Klaus, he just got an idea.

“Let’s go to the library. I have a book to return anyway.”

“But it’s almost six.”   
  
“It’s also Wednesday, so if we hurry we also have a little time to browse.”

“So what do you say?” Klaus was holding out two books, unable to decide which should be his next read. “Homosexual romance with some, by the looks of it, really kinky undertones, or the sci-fi time-travel romance?”

Diego approached him, one step, two, all prowl-like and dangerous, and Klaus retreated in small, confused steps until his back hit the shelves. He caught with the corner of his eye the flowery pattern of a dress moving past the long row of shelves, the click-clack of heels getting muted as the girl walked away. It was just the two of them on the entire floor now, and Diego has clearly taken note of it. He placed his arms on either side of Klaus’ head against the shelf and he leaned in, breathing hard like he was burning to say something.

And there, in the small space made by Diego’s body, where it was just the two of them and all other noises were muffled, Diego told him, firm and clear, “I love you.” And Klaus lost all steam. 

Which made no sense, he should have been happy - this, as unlikely as it may have been, was the best possible outcome. But — 

Klaus panicked.

“Why?”

Diego was taken aback by the question. 

“What do you mean  _ why _ ?”

“Why? And why now?”

“Because it’s true. And it’s- Yeah, it’s true. And you need to hear it.”

“You know I’m broken though, right?” It’s not what he wanted to say, but it took precedence. Because Diego had to know. He’s seen Klaus at his worst, several times even. He’s seen what he was all about so why—

“You’re not broken.”

“Come on, Diego. The only constants in my life are my dead brother and all the drugs that keep the other ghosts away. And— I haven’t even told you everything.” 

“What do you mean?”

Klaus shook his head, looking at the high ceiling, at the curved stairs, at the shelves around them, at anything but Diego. He was trying not to lash out, he knew it; he was like a feral cat like that - so accustomed to the ugliness of the world that when he got kindness, he didn’t know how to react and defaulted to this. 

But Diego needed to know; he deserved better. He certainly at least deserved to know everything before saying things like _ that. _

“The modeling thing wasn’t exactly a steady gig, you know. It barely covered the bills, and well, I also used to keep this rather money-hungry hobby of getting really, really high. So I’ve found myself having to do less than savory things to get money for this hobby. I honestly don’t know why I’m saying it like this; had you become a cop you probably would have arrested me a couple of times by now.” 

Klaus was waiting for a response, but Diego didn’t back away like he thought he would, didn’t seem disgusted or angry, or even surprised. 

“Patch told me you had a rap sheet. She didn’t give me details, and I didn’t ask. But I suspected.”

“So?”

“So what.”

“You can’t be okay with this. You’re not a saint. You’re a decent guy who worries about people, who takes his mother furniture shopping and who dresses in leather at night to throw knives at people who do bad stuff.  _ I _ do bad stuff. You know it.”

“You’re not a bad guy, Klaus. You’re not the one responsible for all the ugly shit that I try to stop at night. What I do has nothing to do with this. With who you are.”

“But how, Diego? Why? I’m a ghost-riddled fuckup and my life has mostly been me selling my body for drugs. How is this okay?”

“Yes, okay. Yes. What do you want to hear? You’ve had a shitty life, and I’m so, so sorry you had to go through that. But you’re on the other side of that now. I want to be here. I want  _ you _ to be here. I don’t care that you’re broken. Okay?”

Klaus really wanted it to be okay, how could he not? But that wasn’t his life, it wasn’t how things arranged themselves for him. He used to think a lot about deserving things, long ago when he spiraled down the hole of dark thoughts, a woe is me to the tune of ‘I don’t deserve what’s happening to me’. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, how he then made himself deserve all the ugly things that started happening. So yeah, maybe it was all his fault. He deserved all that. He did not deserve Diego and what he was saying, no matter how he burned to hear it. 

“What do you get out of this?”

“What do I get? You. If you want it, of course.”

“That's a pretty bad deal if you ask me.”

It was; it was irrational, and maybe Klaus shouldn’t judge so harshly since he was caught in the same web, though he didn’t feel nearly as ready as Diego was to put it out there. Which was stupid and more than a little bit selfish - but that was him; he was an asshole through and through, even when he didn’t mean to be.

“Hey, don't talk shit about my boyfriend.”

_ Boyfriend. _ So corny. So childish. So perfect.

The lights dimmed slightly around them, and there was a voice announcing that there were fifteen minutes to closing time. Klaus checked out his book - the time travel one - and they headed back to the car. 

He’s barely buckled himself in and Diego was adjusting his seat, when he catches his eyes in the rearview mirror and smiles.

“Hey.”

Klaus stops fidgeting.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

It was irrational the way Klaus almost took offense at the words, there was no better way to describe the little storm that started once he heard them again. He bats them away with his bands, maybe defensive, maybe embarrassed. 

“Oh fuck you, stop saying that.”

“Wow, that's almost worse than the "why" in terms of reactions.”

Klaus feels the heat of the words, very very much so, but in his cheeks and flushes, bashful.

“How can you say it? You barely even know me!”

“God, I hope that's not true.” Diego laughs, adjusting the mirror and pulling out of the parking space.

It wasn't, Diego knew more about him than anyone. Well, almost anyone, not no one could compete with Ben at knowing Klaus, but, well, he  _ did  _ have some rather unusual circumstances. He concedes.

“Yeah, fine; you know an awful lot for someone I've basically just met.”

“Any other things you feel like you should be telling me? Now that the dam's open, and since you seem to feel like you have to justify yourself - which for the record, you don't—”

“I don’t think so?”

Ben, who had fizzled onto the backseat just as the car pulled into the main road, was looking between them and was visibly gloating. He looked downright smug so of course Klaus had to ask; he always took the bait.

“What.”

Diego, who couldn’t see Ben, turned to Klaus.

“What?”

“Not you; Ben.”

“Oh,” Diego said, and Klaus was briefly afraid that he’d, somehow, freak out again. “Uh, hey Ben. How’s it going?”

Ben shrugged.

“Can’t complain.”

“Yeah, you can,” added Klaus, because he certainly did complain - usually about Klaus, and usually with good reason. He relayed the message to Diego.

“He says he won’t complain.”

“Can’t.”

“Whatever. Why are you so smug?”

“He loves you.” 

“Oh my god, you absolute creep!” Klaus turned as far as the seatbelt allowed, genuinely scandalized at the idea that Ben had been there in the library, when Diego— “Where you—” 

“What?” Diego was doing his best to keep his eyes on the road but kept darting his eyes between the road and Klaus, and the backseat where he understood that Ben was. “What did he say?”

“Does this mean you two are official now?” Asked Ben, who continued to gloat, enjoying his ghostly status and the possibility to freely talk behind Diego’s back - quite literally.

“I guess?”

“Okay, this is really weird.” Diego was blissfully unaware of Ben’s laugh at his remark, and Klaus began to hate the fact that he couldn’t smack his brother when he was invisible. “It’s like watching only half of a tennis match.”

“Want me to manifest him?”

“We’re in traffic, I don’t want to cause any collisions because a guy magically popped up in the back of my car.” 

“Diego. Seriously. I’ve seen _ way _ weirder things in traffic.”

“Fair enough. Okay, sure, bring him on. If it makes this thing less distracting it would be great.”

Klaus does, and Diego holds his breath for the shortest of seconds before relaxing and smiling at Ben in the rearview mirror.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” said Ben, losing a lot of that smugness and turning just the tiniest shade of pink at the acknowledgment. 

  
  
Diego talked some more about the kid he saved the previous night, about Claire Skies and the work they did, and Klaus felt like he was enveloped in static. Diego talked and Ben listened, spine straight and muscles tense and he wasn’t saying anything but Klaus knew all that he was thinking, because he was thinking it too. The mansion. The few whispered midnight talks they managed to have when Klaus took the fire escape and crawled into Ben’s room through his window. The plans they started to make. It was right after Quentin ran away, when it finally sunk in that he wasn’t coming back, and when they, too, began to talk about it.

That’s all they did, they talked about it. About how they’d slip out at night, take a bus a few cities over and keep moving every couple of days until they were far enough that none of Sir’s henchmen and none of the police could find them. Klaus knew that the little money he had hidden away wouldn’t last them long, and that he’d have to earn more - which was not something he really didn’t want to have Ben around for. 

It was never more than plans though. So the thing that Diego did; they both  _ felt it. _ Ben and he didn’t get a chance to get away, but that kid - and many others - now did.

Diego didn’t seem to understand the true weight of what he’d done, and Klaus wasn’t confident he could do the feelings justice if he put them into words. He was watching Diego talk, a little boastful - rightfully so - and he was excited again, talking about going on patrol but also volunteering with the organization on his days off and Klaus was so… He was in love. He stopped Diego at the door to their building, and he felt the words, he knew them, he just had to reach out for them and-

“Diego, I—”

“You don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready.”

Thing is - he rather thought he was.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very vivid memory of when I was in the first grade and we had to tell a story to the class, and I didn't remember how my story ended so I segued into another (unrelated) story, then started mixing in stuff from a bunch of other stories and boy, that was a confusing afternoon for all involved. My classmates watched me completely enrapt. The teacher went down from her desk and sat with the students and looked at me. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the windows. Birds were chirping. _**No one** stopped me._
> 
> The chilling and mortifying feeling of "oh god, someone please stop me from talking"; I feel it to this day, just as sharp as back then.
> 
> What I'm trying to say, I have no idea what I'm doing. Enjoy! 😆


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has an interesting ~~life~~ ~~death~~ ~~both~~ story.

Ben always had a sense of _time_ whenever he disappeared, whenever he went to his nowhere place. It didn’t feel like anything to him, barely a blink of an eye in his compressed dimension, but he always knew, when he returned, how long he’d been gone for. Not when Klaus threw him out of his body that night; that was entirely different to anything Ben had ever experienced. It wasn’t The Light - he’d seen that, he would always remember it. It was nothingness - peaceful, eye-gouging, _black_ nothingness. There was no light, there was no sound, Ben couldn’t move - but he could still feel time pass. He didn’t have the luxury of blipping out, of jumping over parts he didn’t like, like he used to when he was with Klaus. He had to be there for all of it.

Until, suddenly, he wasn’t. Ben couldn’t panic in there, he could only _exist,_ muted in voice and thoughts and emotions. He just _was._ And then, without any warning, all of the darkness turned into blinding light and he found himself in Diego’s apartment, looking at Klaus.

Ben thinks sometimes, he may have been in Hell.

He thinks about it a lot, mostly when the room is covered in darkness and he’s staring into whatever shadow happens to catch his eye. He used to watch Klaus sleep - it wasn’t creepy, okay? It felt like he was watching _over_ him, in a way. Klaus used to get nightmares, he’d wake up tangled in sweaty sheets, sometimes with a cry caught in his throat, and Ben was always there to bring him down gently and firmly into reality. He sort of wishes they were the hugging type of siblings, he does miss the feel of being engulfed in someone’s arms, and Klaus, well, he sought that same feeling too, but in all the wrong ways. They rarely hugged, carrying that need deep inside them like it was this secret, shameful thing.

Klaus has changed in the time Ben was gone. Which, in and of itself, was a shock, since Klaus had long joyfully given up on trying, and chose to live life going down the path of least resistance, peppering it through with indulgent hedonism and really, really poor decisions. Ben has seen Klaus start to get clean so many times, he knew that initial drive, that naivete in Klaus that made him hope, but not try hard enough. He remembers every time Klaus slipped up, and how, after a point, he started feeling less and less guilty about it, accepting it as part of who he was. Except—

This time, Klaus looked different. He felt more open, raw in a way that Ben hasn’t seen him in years. He wanted to get a job - _Klaus, he wanted to get a job_ \- and was actually open to working on controlling his powers. Ben suspected it was all because of Diego.

So Ben doesn’t watch Klaus sleep anymore. Klaus has Diego now, and Ben has to frame it as some sort of give and take on his part so he can begin to accept it. He's losing bits and pieces of Klaus' attention but he's earning a lot of Diego's and it's not all bad. Because Diego always asks if Ben's there, he actively tries to involve him in their life and it feels strange, after all that time, to add a second person to his closed-off world. But he likes it.

To some extent, he enjoys seeing Klaus and Diego together, tiptoeing around their feelings. Ben tries not to interfere, as much as he’d love to tell Klaus to just— relax, to allow himself to be happy, to stop twisting Diego’s affection to torture himself. But he can’t interfere, and not just because he’s a ghost, or because he knows that Klaus won’t listen. It has to be Klaus who comes to terms with what he’s feeling and who finally lets it out.

Naturally, Klaus doesn’t. But Diego does.

Ben’s there in the library when it happens. He doesn’t mean to intrude, he thinks it’s just flirting, maybe some handsy PDA but no. He hears Diego’s ‘I love you’, he hears Klaus’ ‘why’. He pops out. And when he blinks back, Diego’s saying it again.

Ben can’t help that he’s gloating.

When they’re home again, and Diego’s gone on patrol, Ben really wants to ask - no, to _pry_ \- into what Klaus feels about the new development in his life, but he manages to reign that in. Instead, he remembers something Klaus had said early that morning, after helping that lady move on. He sets his book down, looking at Klaus until he gets his attention.

“What did you mean with the ‘you want to hear me breathe again’ thing?”

Klaus sets his book down, closing it without even a glance at the page number.

“So this whole thing is pretty nuts, right?” Klaus jumps in like he was continuing a conversation he was actively having inside his head, “How I can suddenly make you corporeal or fucking toss you into nothingness for a while, or just… help people move on. And the possession thing, too - hard no on that, still - but that’s, well, it’s _a thing._ A thing that I can do.” His enthusiasm simmers down to a heavy sense of calmness, and it’s as alarming as the wind stopping suddenly on an overcast day. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, of course.” It flies out of him, without even thinking about it. Which is for the better, because were he to actively think about it, he’d probably realize that trusting Klaus was usually a bad idea. But it doesn’t work like that, and he _trusts_ Klaus, regardless of what reason might have to say.

“Remember how I brought you back? In the mausoleum.”

Ben shrugs, mostly because he doesn’t remember anything past a few flashes of marble, and Klaus’ eyes, shining an unnatural-looking green under puffy eyelids.

“I want to try something - do you want to let me try?”

“Umm, you understand why I’d be a bit apprehensive to say yes, right?”

“I do. And please know that I am never, ever going to do anything like that ever again. This is different. This is _good.”_

“What exactly are you planning to do?”

Klaus huffs, annoyed, and he brushes his hands through his hair. He sighs and relents.

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing, or how I’m doing this. Fuck, this— it’s not exactly something I can explain, not with steps and technical terms and all that jazz.”

“You know, I’d be more at ease with this if you gave me at least a bit of information to go on.”

“Shit, I know, okay? I know. But it most probably won’t work anyway and I don’t want to get all disappointed when it does.”

So Ben’s apprehensive. What if he’s thrown back into that place - possibly Hell, though he’s pretty sure he’s done nothing that should have earned him a place there - what if he doesn’t get to come back? But he trusts Klaus.

That’s how they end up in the middle of Diego’s living room, Klaus apparently deep in focus, with the blue crackle of electricity around his fists, and Ben staring at him expectantly.

He feels nothing, of course, until he sharply and consciously almost, he feels _nothing._ Absolutely nothing. Almost like when he’s in his nowhere place, but not at all like that, because he’s there, he can see Klaus, and then— And then he feels everything. Absolutely everything, all at once. His head is pounding, which is new and so loud and disconcerting, and Ben hates it, so he lifts his hand, as if trying to warn Klaus. He doesn’t know what about, it just feels urgent, but he doesn’t even manage to formulate a clear thought before everything turns black and he drops to the floor.

When he opens his eyes, he feels instantly nauseous. He hasn’t felt that in so long, but his body recognizes it, making him push weakly onto his hands and knees as he’s heaving, dry and painful, tears prickling his eyes. He can’t get anything out, so he settles right back against the cool floor, focusing on how hard and solid it feels underneath him.

He can see Klaus crouched right by his side, and through the ringing in his ears, he can barely make out his voice. Ben coughs a couple of times, eyes fixed on a dust bunny that rolled away pushed by his breath. And that’s when he realizes--

“I can _breathe.”_

His voice feels foreign to his ears, and so does Klaus’.

“Are you okay?”

“Klaus. I can breathe.” He says that, even though his throat feels like it’s closing up as he’s speaking. “I can feel things, what’s- what’s going on?” He’s looking at his hands, touching his chest, his face as he sits on his knees. “Am I- real? Is this real? I don’t dream. Am I dreaming?”

“I can’t feel you,” Klaus says, and Ben can see the worry and wonder in his eyes. He’s reaching his hand out, placing it on Ben’s shoulder with a second’s hesitation. Ben looks at the hand, then back at Klaus as they both say, at the same time,

“I can feel you!”

This is nothing like when he possessed Klaus. He felt everything back then, almost like he does now, but there was also Klaus’ heavy presence that made Ben feel like the passenger that he was in that body. Not this time, this is— This feels _real,_ somehow, in a way that possession never seemed to. He feels real, and bright, and _whole._

He still feels like puking, but he’s pretty sure there’s nothing for him _to_ puke. When the shaking in his limbs subsides enough, he gets up and Klaus helps him sit on the couch.

“Peanut butter and jelly?”

“What?”

Klaus is walking to the kitchen, a man with a purpose, and Ben thinks that his priorities might be a bit skewed given the circumstances.

“You must be starving.”

“I’m really not,” Ben says, since he’s pretty sure that hunger isn’t one of the multitude of things he’s feeling at the moment. “Thirsty, maybe?”

“Well, I hope water is okay, since we don’t exactly have alcohol in the house. And you really look like you need a drink.”

“I don’t need a drink,” says Ben, who never felt such a need, and doesn’t understand how people would. “I need to understand what’s going on. What did you do?”

“I, uh, I think that I may have, maybe, kinda brought you back?” Klaus’ voice goes up with every meandering word, leaving him almost breathless on the last one.

“Back, like--” Ben lets the sentence hang, hoping that maybe Klaus has the right answer. But no, he has even more questions.

“Do you feel alive?”

“I mean,” Ben starts, then stops to reformulate. “It’s been a while since I last felt that, you know? I feel… different. Not dead? Let’s just go for ‘definitely not dead’.”

“But I can’t feel you. No,” he clarifies when Ben raises an eyebrow, “like, you know I could always feel you? Even when I couldn’t see you. I could always tell you were there. Except for after the whole possession business. In fact, it’s just like that - I can’t feel you at all. I mean, I can feel you if I touch you,” he demonstrates, squeezing Ben’s arm softly, “but I can’t _sense_ you.” Klaus watches him, eyes wide in a confused alarm. “So yeah, I’d have to agree, definitely not dead.”

The sound of keys rattling in the door startles them both, and they’re looking at the door when Diego walks in. He greets them, talking about something or other as he’s pushing his boots off, when he stiffens, straightens up and turns to look at them properly.

“You’re…” he’s looking at Ben, up and down, then at Klaus and right back at Ben. “what’s happening? Something’s happening.” He tosses his bag near his shoes then takes a few steps towards the two of them, keeping his eyes on Ben. “How come you’re not, you know. Blue? See-through?”

“Yeah so I may have brought Ben back to life,” Klaus says, a forced cheeriness in his voice that Ben and by the looks of it, Diego too, can see right through.

“What?” Diego looks between Ben and Klaus, and since none of them seem to pick up the question, he continues. “I’m trying really hard to come up with things that aren’t ‘what’.”

“Yeah, I don’t know exactly what I did, but I may have brought him back.”

“Back.”

“From the dead. Or whatever he was.”

“I was definitely dead.”

“I mean yeah, but you weren’t _dead-_ dead.” Klaus drops his face into his hands, elbows propped on the counter. He sighs, threading his fingers through his hair and straightening back up. “You were different from the other ghosts. Oh wow, you were literally not like all the other ghosts!”

Ben shoots Klaus narrowed eyes and a lot of attitude.

“You know, I can hit you now.”

“Oh, so Diego did pick up on the correct vibe from you.”

“Low blow.”

“Blow me!”

“Hey hey - cut it, okay?” Diego breaks them up, clearly too shaken to have any sort of tolerance for bullshit. “Can we go back to the part where you _brought him back from the dead?_ Are you really alive?”

Diego’s closing the distance between them him with slow, cautious steps, and Ben shares his wonder. He feels it too, he feels that even after dying and coming back once, even after all his years spent with Klaus, that this is still the most surreal thing he’s ever experienced. He gives Diego a small shrug.

“Klaus asked that before; I don’t know? I guess?”

Diego touches his shoulder, gently, then shakes his head and immediately crouches down, gathering Ben in a hug, squeezing tight before letting go and studying him some more.

“Wow, this is— You’re really here. How the hell did you do this?”

Ben’s tingling all over with the hug, feeling the press of Diego’s chest against his for a few seconds after they separate. So it seems like he was right to miss hugs. Meanwhile, Klaus takes a whiff of his wine glass, filled to a tasteful level with plain water before he takes a sip and shrugs.

“I can’t say. Like, I don’t think there’s a sane, intelligible way of me to phrase this so it would make sense to anyone who doesn’t have intimate knowledge with sensing ghosts and this whole bullshit.”

“You resurrected Ben, and you can’t find your words?”

“Like you’re really interested in the technicalities of necromancy. Ugh, such a foul sounding word. Okay, in all fairness, Ben really _wasn’t_ like the other ghosts, he was already caught in between that world and this one, so maybe that’s why that worked.”

“So, uh, what now?” Ben asks, because he suddenly realizes that being alive - possibly? - came with this burning urge to do something about it. And with it.

“What do you mean, ‘what now’?” Klaus asks, putting his wine glass on the coffee table.

“Shit. I’m dead!” Both Klaus and Diego turn to look at him. “No, I mean. Ben Hargreeves is dead. I need some papers, an identity. Oh my god, I need a job!”

“Ben? Benny; you’ve been alive for all of five minutes and you’re already thinking about becoming a slave to the wage? What the hell, man. Live a little! Hah, _live;_ it’s funny because it’s true.”

So he was breathing now. He was breathing again and eating, and sleeping and all the things people did. He was _people_ again, and it wasn’t something he thought might ever happen, so he was fairly unprepared for it. Ben didn’t like to be unprepared.

He was fully unprepared to see his own dick, for example. Because for almost fifteen years, until he learned to feel when he wasn’t welcome, he’s seen plenty of Klaus’ dick plus a wide assortment of other dicks - but not his own. He still blushes when he sees his body; hell, he flushes a whole new color whenever he catches himself in the mirror wearing _different clothes._

All in all, things were going pretty well - so, naturally, he began to worry.

Needlessly, it turned out.

Klaus was thriving under his new routine, and Diego kept involving Ben as much as he could in his life. Ben's been joining Diego when he visited Claire Skies - where he got absolutely flustered when he met Allison, becoming instantly charmed by her. He liked Allison, she was kind but such a realist. And _a grown-up_. Ben didn’t know a lot of proper grown-ups. She even managed to use her connections to hook Klaus up with a photographer - a legit one, who had exhibits and even sold her art - and she’d agreed to shoot Klaus. He’d get a paid, respectable gig.

More noticeably, Klaus has actively started working on his powers, making progress in keeping the spirits quiet, and all without the aid of drugs. Ben couldn’t see them now, the ghosts, but he could see it in the smiles that Klaus wore more often now, that they were haunting him less and less.

Ben still thought he should get a job, but Klaus and Diego still laughed him off, telling him over and over again to _live a little._

So he did.

It was hard to decide on just what to do, what to even start with - decision paralysis, after so many years of him being trapped in a choiceless world. Diego was really helpful with that, seeing how he took Ben _everywhere_ \- everywhere except on patrol, even though Ben asked several times before having to be reminded that this time, he could, and possibly _would_ get hurt. But then Diego invited him to a club and, surprising mostly himself, Ben said yes.

Clubs were not his thing, not after his years with Klaus, but Diego managed to make it sound like it would be more of a ‘sit-at-the-bar-and-discuss-life’ type of situation rather than the loud, boozy affair it turned out to be. Ben got solidly tipsy on deceptively fruity drinks, didn’t even realize that it happened until it was too late, and soon enough he was _woo_ -ing loudly with music that he last remembered dancing to when he was sixteen.

Were there less alcohol coursing through him, he’d be more embarrassed - as it was, he simply did not care. He let his eyes fall shut and just moved with the music, and when he opened them again, he saw a bright smile and glittery skin sparkling in the colorful lights. The cutest girl Ben has ever seen was not only dancing with him, but she was singing along, just like he had been without even realizing it. It was a magical couple of songs when Ben tried not to embarrass himself too much, becoming suddenly self-conscious at his clearly dated moves - but it all ended suddenly, when the girl got close to him - so close, practically pressed to him, taking one of his hands in hers. She got on her tiptoes, gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispered in his ear something that he had no hope to distinguish, then she turned around and left. With one last look over her shoulder, she let go of his hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Ben was left there, rosy-cheeked and tingling all over, slightly confused but pleased about the interaction. Diego was watching him with from the side where he’d retreated, holding Ben’s cocktail and his own water.

Ben doesn’t remember much after that, just how Diego not-so-subtly propped him up while he lead him to his car, then righted him while buckling him in. The car ride was a blur, but the unexpected elevator ride stood out since it was rare enough an occurrence, and so did the way he was buzzing deliciously, all wired and low-key horny. That was all new, distinctive. Memorable. In those last, hazy moments before he fell in a dreamless sleep, he thought - maybe alcohol wasn’t so terrible, after all.

Naturally, he changed his mind the next morning when he finally understood why people were always complaining about hangovers.

Diego wasn’t there when Ben dropped by his place for breakfast. It was the third night he’s been sleeping in Klaus’ old apartment after spending a week on Diego’s couch. He found himself strangely unable to get too far from Klaus all of a sudden, and unwilling to be _alone-_ alone. He hasn’t been alone-alone since they lived in the mansion, and Klaus was always on opposite schedules from Ben, and Quentin— well, Quentin wasn’t really _there_ even when he was there. For some reason he’d decided he liked neither of them, and would not engage them past the mandated niceties. So Ben was alone. And then he died. After that, he’d always had Klaus.

He changed his mind about being close to Klaus after the first night he heard him and Diego trying to quietly go at it, and completely failing. In those first few minutes Ben desperately wished he had the ability to blip out of existence for a while like he used to when he was— when he was dead. He wasn’t dead now; not only that, he was alive. He _did_ things now, and it took a lot out of him. He needed sleep. So he looked through Klaus’ things until he found the key to their old apartment and settled there, effectively deciding to move out.

So he had his own place now.

Breakfast was still at Diego’s though, which is why Ben was surprised that he wasn’t there. Klaus was there though, and he was smiling brightly as he greeted his brother too loud and too cheery. At least he handed Ben a glass of water before saying anything else, which was a blessing since he felt like he’d run through an entire marathon throughthe desert.

Ben was miserable. Sure, he got the experience, the much-hyped club outing that Diego labeled as ‘an essential experience’ - it had obviously been Klaus’ idea, he always used to say that Ben just ‘didn’t know how to appreciate a proper sweat-out’, as he put it. Well, he got the chance, he took it, and now he was paying for it. Diego knew he’d get drunk, Klaus definitely knew he’d get drunk. Hell, even Ben knew he’d get drunk and yet he still did it, because as adamant as he had been against alcohol, that was before he had the choice to actually try it. Now, everything was different.

“Diego tells me you’re a lightweight.”

Ben groaned.

“What were the odds,” he stopped and took another gulp of water, “what were the odds of me coming back from the dead as a raging alcoholic with a built-in tolerance?”

Klaus snorted, pulling up a chair on the other side of the counter. He sat down and leaned over, laying his hands on Ben’s shoulders - a touch that felt electric, like all touches did in this new body.

“Look, I get it that you want to try everything, and I respect that, I really do. And I can’t believe I’m having this conversation but, Ben? Please stay away from drugs.” His hands squeeze at Ben’s shoulders and he sags, just a little, under the weight. Klaus straightens up with a smile that instantly lifts the mood. “Sleeping around, though, is very much encouraged. Just be smart about it, I’m too young to be an uncle.”

Ben groaned non-committedly, wondering if the countertop was clean enough for him to put his face on. It seemed cold and perfect, and his head pounded, and Klaus was still talking.

“I’d have thought that, well, I’d be enough of a PSA to keep you away from all the boozin’, brother dear, but I guess you had to make that mistake for yourself in order to learn.”

“Yeah.” Ben would say more, but he couldn’t find the motivation. Klaus was unperturbed by his silence.

“Tell me about the girl! Diego mentioned a girl, he said she was flirting and looking at you like she wanted the two of you two to bail together, but you went all virgin-blushy on her and didn’t follow her?”

... _that’s_ what happened?

“Uhh,” There was a lot to object to in there, but he couldn’t find the energy, not with how he felt like he was clammy and sweating and seconds away from puking - not to mention the incessant pounding in his head. “It was an interesting night. Where’s Diego?”

“Diego went out to get some bacon and eggs, I’m sure you can piece together why, and by the time he’s back and we sort that bit out, you should drink more water and maybe take a really long shower.”

And that’s what he did.

Ben was alive for eleven days - he couldn’t not count them, hard as he tried, his sense of time something so _real_ now - and everything, for the first time in his life, was pretty damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben deserves good things <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with 42.85% of the Hargreeves.

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. Most notably, Ben was back. And so was Diego’s drive to change things, to make his mark, to go back on patrol and change the world - they may be just drops in the ocean, but what was the ocean if not a whole lot of drops? 

Diego was smiling as he was turning the key in the lock. It was stupid, really, but he still got this pleasant little thrill whenever he saw Klaus after even the shortest of absences. He was never gone long, but every time Klaus saw him, every single time, no matter what he was doing, he lit up, and his smile hit Diego right in his very core. This time was no different - Diego’s been at the gym, he was pleasantly exhausted but he got a second wind as soon as he opened his door and was greeted by Klaus, and his smile.

They were on the couch, Ben and Klaus, ignoring each other in favor of some book like they often did. Ben didn’t initially acknowledge Diego, almost surely forgetting that he was alive now, and visible - a small leftover from _before_. Everything was new, and in a seemingly constant state of flux. Diego hung on for the ride, having decided early on to just roll with it - and so far, it seemed to be paying off.

Klaus set his book down and walked over to greet him properly, with a kiss, then moved to the kitchen. 

“You’ll never guess who I ran into today,” Klaus says, leaning against one of the chairs.

“The president.”

“You wish. No, it was Five. He’s dropping by for dinner tomorrow.”

“Five's what? When? _Quentin?”_

“Coming to dinner, tomorrow, and yes. I hope it’s okay? I thought we might not want a whole lot of an audience for the particular topics we’ll surely be touching,” Klaus said, nodding towards Ben. 

“Sure, of course it’s okay. It’s just- unexpected. Is everything okay?"

"Why wouldn’t it be? He’s in town for a couple of days and I thought we could catch up.”

“Do you often catch up?”

“Nah. It would be difficult to do so anyway, I didn’t exactly have a landline for a while. Or a stable address. But we did run into each other a couple of times along the years.”

“Huh. How is he? I mean, I read about him in the papers, he seems to be doing pretty well for himself.”

“He really is. Who knew that running away was the key for us both.”

“That’s debatable,” pitched in Ben, who was yet to get accustomed to the conventions of being alive and _not listening in to other people’s conversations_. 

“Well, it turned out okay eventually. Anyway,” he continued, not leaving Ben enough time to protest, “he’s in town and dropping by around six-ish so I thought we could have dinner. Think you can give me that cooking primer so I can lend a hand?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea. Ben, you can join in if you want, you are seriously behind in home ec.”

Though admittedly Diego had his reservations about it, both Klaus and Ben turned out to pretty good with knives. They listened carefully, despite the back and forth of pointed jabs, and took guidance well. They may not have cut the most aesthetically pleasing vegetables - but it was their work and they were proud of it. As was Diego. 

The cooking helped - it took way longer to coach someone into going half as good a job as he could have done twice as fast on his own, but it helped take his mind away from the only thing he’s been thinking since the previous evening - Quentin. _Five._

Five, who was an adult now - Diego’s seen him before, briefly that time on the street, and in newspaper articles - and who now stood in his doorway, a striking vision in long lines, sharp angles, and bespoke suits. He looked out of place in the drab hallway with its paint chipping off the wall in spots, but he didn’t make everything look cheap around it - he elevated things somehow. 

Diego smiles, and can see the realization in Five’s eyes when he recognizes him, he sees the small rise of his eyebrows and the glint in his eyes.

“Diego?”

He nods, standing up just a little straighter, unconsciously mirroring Five’s posture. 

“It’s been a while.”

Five opens his mouth to say more, but his eyes land on Ben, who shifts his weight on his other foot and smiles goofily. 

“Hey, bro.”

Five looks at Ben. His smile melted and his mouth is still open with a forgotten word, and it takes him a long second before he finds something to say. He slowly turns to Klaus, cocking his head to the side.

“Klaus?”

“I did say I had a couple of someones for you to meet.”

“You did, and I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t— this. What _is_ this?”

“Klaus brought me back.”

It was a charged moment, and Diego feels like he shouldn’t be there, that he’s somehow intruding into something private. 

Five looks at Ben - he doesn’t take a single step, they’re still standing in the doorway. For a second, Diego is as afraid that Five would just turn around and leave - he doesn’t.

“Ben?”

Ben nods, and Five studies him.

“Klaus told me— all the times I’ve seen him, he’s told me you’d died.”

“I have. I had. Klaus just brought me back. It’s, uh— it’s new to me, too.”

“He’s brought you back?” Five’s voice is sharp, as is the look in his eyes.

“From the dead. Well, sort of.”

“Hey, just a thought,” Klaus steps in, “how about we take the rest of this inside?”

They do. Five resists the urge to stare at either Ben or Diego while he takes off his shoes and jacket, but Ben was coiled as a spring and hug-attacks Five as soon as he turns around, making him take an awkward step back to keep his balance.

Klaus laughs, surprise mixed with delight. “I think it’s the first time you guys did that. Kinda makes me wish we had a camera around.”

“How did you do this?” Five squeezes Ben’s shoulders, pushing him slightly to look him up and down. “Were you really dead?”

It was easier for Klaus to explain it to Five, much easier since Five knew about it and already accepted Klaus’ powers as fact. They sat around the busy counter - Diego debated moving the whole thing over at Klaus’ place, since he had a proper table, but the thought of lugging food over into Klaus’ barely functional kitchen filled him with dread. So they sat around on the chairs that Diego decided to change at the soonest opportunity and tried not to knock elbows too much.

To a certain degree, Diego was relieved that the attention was on Ben. He didn’t know what to say to Five - because he felt like he should _say_ something - and kept rather quiet, leaving the three to catch up. 

“Alright,” said Five, setting his fork down. “So you can help ghosts move on, you can bring back a certain kind of ghost. What else can you do?”

“Well,” says Klaus, managing somehow to perch his pointy elbows among the cluttered surface. “I don’t know, it’s still very much a work in progress. Quite the journey.”

“Would you believe me if I said that this isn’t the strangest thing in my life right now?”

“I don’t dare ask how,” Ben asks.

“Research.”

“Wow, you’re clearly a numbers guy, not a words guy,” teases Klaus.

"I've been working on something that's about to change everyone’s understanding of time. Nothing’s published yet - hell, there’s only one person currently who’s aware of my research. Call me paranoid, but I’d rather I didn’t get into too much detail.”

"Fair enough, even if you did bring it up yourself, so you’re clearly _itching_ to talk about it.” Five doesn’t protest. “I'll try to refrain from running to all my physicist friends to tell them your secrets."

Five asks for a coffee, and even though it’s well after six PM, Diego brews him one. 

"Do you ever sleep?" Klaus asks, when Five takes the steaming cup that Diego offers.

"I do. Not so much these days - but time-travel _does_ take precedence.”

“Really?” Ben, who still sometimes forgets to engage in conversations, is giving Five all of his attention. “Time travel?”

“Yes,” said Five, like it was no big deal, taking a sip of coffee.

“How is that even possible?”

“Rich question from the guy who c _ame back from the dead.”_

“That’s— that’s not the same.”

“I mean, judging by the accepted degree of what’s considered possible, it lands in the same area. It certainly has the same disregard for the known rules of physics that I’m proposing in my work.”

When Ben temporarily seems to be out of questions, Five looks up, finally acknowledging Diego.

“So Diego, what have you been up to? I heard your old man’s dead. You’ll excuse me if I don’t rush to lay some flowers on his grave.”

“Yeah. The only time in my life that I rooted for cancer.”

“How’s Grace holding up?”

Diego shrugged.

“She’s fine. Still hangs on to that place though.”

“Well,” Five lifts his coffee cup. “Here’s to dead assholes; may they never be revived.”

“What he said,” says Klaus, toasting his glass of water. 

Ben sits cross-legged on the floor-pillow by the coffee table and discusses with Five, probing him further about his research. Diego’s excused himself to do the dishes, but Klaus soon joins him by the sink, rolling his sleeves.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You seem… off. I’m sorry if this makes you feel— I don’t know. I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m glad to see him. I’m legitimately glad he’s okay, you know?” He turns the water off and peers over his shoulder. They’re far enough, and Five is pretty involved in explaining something to Ben. “I told you we’ve met, right?” Klaus nods. “When we were kids. I’ve seen him get more and more— “ he shakes his head. “I don’t know what happened to him. One day he just— took off.”

Fuck. It’s been so long ago, but it stood out to him still. Maybe it’s how he saw so much of Quentin in Klaus when they first met - it’s hard to say, but he could hardly stop thinking about it now. 

“And I never asked, you know?”

“Diego,” Klaus places his hand on his shoulder, stealing the last of Diego’s resolve. “You had to be, what? Twelve? Thirteen? That’s when he ran away. You were kids.”

“He told me his father beat him.” _And I said nothing. I did nothing._ Diego feels like a complete and utter failure of a human being, no matter how Klaus was right. They _were_ kids. Still. 

“Yeah, that would be Reginald Hargreeves for you. Breaking young spirits is what he did.”

“I’m so sorry,” Diego pulled Klaus in, squeezing him in a hug. An apology by proxy, that’s what it felt like. Klaus squeezed back.

“Do you want to talk to him about it?”

“I don’t know.” 

He didn’t. They joined the two around the coffee table, where the conversation switched to Delores, Five’s partner - he disparaged the term ‘girlfriend’, rather vocally. He did talk about her with a fierce sort of fondness, a devotion that made Diego admire him that much more. Klaus teased him about marriage, and Five reneged the idea so vehemently that Diego was certain they’d get an invitation by mail in the not-so-distant future. Five seemed to be doing well, and that was more than enough for Diego.

Diego comes home from patrol, exhausted in that way that tends to seep heavily through his skin when he finally gets to lay down. Ben was there, on the couch, laughing with Klaus at some old sitcom. By the looks of it, neither of them had slept - which was fine for Klaus, but Diego insisted that Ben got on a ‘conventional’ schedule. 

“Has either of you slept last night?” He goes straight for Klaus, gives him a kiss that he breaks - Diego thinks - too soon, and drags him back, muffling his words when he starts to speak.

“We— “ Klaus pulls back, laughing. “We’ve been on the rooftop for a while, it’s really quiet now that the girl moved on. Still not much of a view, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Klaus looks sleepy-soft despite the crinkle of laughter in his eyes, he’s warm under Diego’s palms and all that Diego wants is to fall asleep curled around him, breathing him in until it’s morning again, and he gets to see his pale skin when he next opens his eyes. 

But he’s tired. He’s had a long night, got into a couple of fights, he’s got scrapes on his thigh from where he slid across gravel and he knows that he needs to clean the wound. Nothing feels broken, which is a blessing as much as a miracle, but he still _hurts_. 

Klaus sees it in him, and takes Diego’s hand.

“Shower?”

Ben gets up, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

“I’ll be off, you, uh— good night.”

By the time he’s gone, Klaus is leading Diego to the bathroom. He helps Diego take off his harness, pulls at his turtleneck when raising his arms makes him wince, he’s being gentle and slow. He joins Diego in the shower - he’s skinny enough to fit with more than enough room - and he takes over, massaging Diego’s sore muscles as he soaps him down. There’s no charged atmosphere between them, despite the fact that they’re naked and touching - which usually ended with at least one of them coming.

They only manage to keep things from getting too far until they get in bed where Diego’s exhaustion turns, implausibly, into this deep thrum of arousal. The good night kiss turns into a long, slow kiss, and Diego easily rolls Klaus on top of him. He can’t stop kissing Klaus, who manages to wrap their fingers together, pinning Diego’s arms by his head. He’s playful, even as he perches himself higher in Diego’s lap. 

“Sleep. We should sleep.”

And Klaus is right, they should. They will. But Diego has another thought - a _need_ , one that pops up and occupies more and more space in his mind until it’s the only thing he can think of.

“I want you to fuck me.”

There’s no _why_ in there; he needs it. There’s something about the night that calls for that, for Klaus’ weight on him, for his touch to be _all over_.

Klaus takes a shuddering breath that he holds for a second before he nods, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Diego leans over, trying to reach for the nightstand, but Klaus gets there first, opening the drawer. He watches Klaus take out the lube and a condom, and nods when Klaus asks if he’s done it before.

“It’s just— it’s been a while.”

He didn’t need to warn, since Klaus takes his time preparing him thoroughly and with no teasing - he couldn’t take much of that anyway, his cock already hard and twitching against his belly. There’s still a flash of pain when he inhales too sharply or when he moves a certain way, but he doesn’t stop writhing, can’t stop the shudder that jolts through him whenever Klaus rubs his fingers _just so_. It had to be the rush of adrenaline that spurs him to hurry Klaus, who doesn’t listen and doesn’t stop until he deems that Diego is indeed ready. It _has_ been a while but Klaus has been so thorough with his fingers and tongue, working Diego open so well that he slides in easily, his body curled above Diego’s. He moves slowly, like he’s afraid to hurt, he’s so fucking gentle it burns inside Diego more than the building need inside him, and he feels himself falling just a little bit deeper.

“I love you,” he whispers, gently holds Klaus’ face between his palms, catching his eyes. He feels soft, so fucking _soft_ for Klaus, despite how hard he makes him. It’s soft kisses on his temples, the corner of his eyes, his mouth, soft hands that hold the line of Klaus’ jaw, soft moans. It’s slow and hot, their breaths, just like their skin is everywhere it touches. Klaus never said it back - not with words - so Diego tried to keep himself a little grounded, a little realistic. 

It may not have been words, but it was there in Klaus’ eyes when he looked right into Diego’s. It was in the deep burn in his kisses, in every one of his breathy moans and in the way he scrunched his eyes before he hid his face in Diego’s shoulder. It was in every one of the languid thrusts that pushed Diego closer and closer until he was right there, on the edge - hanging for a second in a place where his heart didn’t radiate with heat and his body didn’t radiate with pain - right before he crashed down, coming between them with a hiccuped sob.

When he finally opens his eyes, coming down yet somehow still on fire and dripping with endorphins, Klaus is looking at him in wonder.

“Fuck, Diego—” and Klaus comes too, a hurt look in his open eyes, as he stills and pulses, his cock twitching deep inside Diego. 

It takes them a while to disentangle and to do a cursory clean, but when they finally settle back under the sheets, Diego feels it _all_. He’s exhausted and sore and tired, but he’s satiated and happy and undeniably _in love._ He pulls Klaus right back against his chest, and he can feel him fall asleep in his arms, his body growing lax and warm as his breath settles and becomes shallower. Diego fights sleep, as much as it pulls at him and weighs him down - for no other reason than he wants to enjoy this, to feel the moment, to inhabit it for as long as he can. He falls asleep thinking of Klaus, of how far they’ve come, and he’s smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs nervously in taking forever between chapters*


	14. Chapter 14

It was a Tuesday so Diego was at the gym. Ben went with him because Ben was eager to go anywhere, now that he could, especially if it was without Klaus. He’d never admit to that, but it was obvious from the way he lit up whenever Diego asked him to tag along, that he was parched to do… well, anything. Whether it was to go to the gym, to see Allison or only to make a grocery run, Ben excitedly tagged along. Klaus didn’t mind. Ben deserved to be happy.

Klaus was alone in the apartment. All alone. No ghosts. They weren’t gone for good, but he was making real progress in keeping them quieter and further away than ever before. He had just gotten out of the shower and was padding the towel gently to dry his hair, staring blankly in the fogged-up mirror. For a second, a brief, disconcerting second, he didn’t recognize the figure looking back at him. 

There was his body, looking less bony by the day, less frail even though he could still see the jut of his collar bone, his hips. Fading tattoos stood out against his pale skin but he felt _new_ \- there were no bruises or scratches or welts, and a small part of himself almost missed them.

But he was _clean_ and it was quiet and Ben was alive. 

Klaus brought him back.

He did all that, all of it. He was clearly more powerful than he ever thought, more than even Sir Reginald Hargreeves thought - and the old man had some _wild_ ideas about what Klaus could do, what he could become. But Klaus would never be the weapon his dead ol’ dad wanted him to become; he’d never be the ‘worthwhile investment’ Reginald wished he’d turn into but Klaus obstinately didn’t. No, Klaus thought as he saw himself in the bathroom mirror, through clearing steam, with his hair still dripping and the eyeliner that he’d forgotten to remove now smudged; he wasn't any of that. He was a mess; a fine, fine mess; but one that definitely lived up to his potential - just like Sir said he never would. 

Then why did he feel so fucking hollow?

Klaus felt it in the back of his throat, this weight pooling up from his insides, stealing his breath, constricting his chest like it had so many times before. Sometimes, he was _this_. Like he was floating outside himself, all wrong, a few inches above and to the side.

The restlessness was back - it never truly left, but it sometimes morphed into this heavy sort of feeling that filled him and left him empty still. He needed to get out of his head.

Diego walked in with a laughing Ben in tow. It only took him one glance, and he noticed that something was off. Ben, for the first time ever, didn’t pick up on Klaus’ state - he was still pumped, and talking excitedly about the gym - the _gym_ \- and immediately went to the kitchen. Diego noticed though, and approached Klaus with curious eyes, getting his hands on Klaus’ shoulders and looking at him, trying to read it in his face. 

It must have been in the slightly offset way he smiled, contained in the curl of his lips but never echoing in his eyes as well. Diego understood. 

"Ben?" Diego turned his head just a little, his eyes never leaving Klaus. "Will you give us a minute?"

Ben stopped, glass in hand, but he put it down when he finally looked at them and realized that something was going on. He looked between Diego and Klaus for a few seconds, finally _looked_ at Klaus, and he could see the understanding settle on his face.

"Oh. Sure. Of course." It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but instead gave them a small smile before closing the door. 

Ben closed the door behind him and that was such a new thing. Not Ben leaving, he used to do that all the time - Klaus _was_ a lot - but him leaving like this. Leaving for someplace else, for something else. Klaus didn’t know how to feel about it - he didn’t know a lot of things in the moment.

And then there was just Diego and him. Diego who was right there, so close that Klaus could hear his breath.

“What happened?”

Nothing. Everything. Klaus couldn’t tell. He shrugged, even though he knew how much Diego hated it when he defaulted to shrugs instead of words. So he tried to force a few words out.

“I don’t know.” He caught himself shrugging again. “Yeah, I don’t know. It’s— I get like this sometimes.” He did, but then he quickly got something to smoke or snort or swallow, and it would all sort itself out one way or another. But that shit was gone, so he'd need to find a different route out of this maze.

“What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, and it was just as much true as it wasn’t. “I need to get out of my head.”

“Alright,” Diego was cautious, tentative. “How can I help?”

“You can’t, not really.” Though as soon as he said it, he thought— maybe he could. There was something else that sometimes helped. “You could hurt me.” 

Diego didn’t say anything, but it was obvious from the way his nostrils flared and he squared his jaw, that he maybe wasn’t expecting that. He didn't know what to make of it. So Klaus chickened out.

“You don’t have to, it’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine. Are you sure?”

Klaus nodded. 

“Tell me.”

This wasn't some hookup, a fleeting moment with someone he'd never see again where he could be anyone and say anything. This was Diego, and Diego knew him. Diego cared. Diego loved him. But how can he tell him that sometimes he needed pain to exorcise all other pain? How can he say that he just needs to feel small and used yet cared for, he needed a firm hand and an impersonal pounding, he needed to be fucked right back into being a person. How can he say all that? Any of it, really. So he doesn't use words, can't find anything that said more than pulling Diego's belt through the loops and wrapping one end around his fist.

His breath came heavy now when he peered up at Diego, a little apprehensive but searching, hoping he would understand. Diego said nothing, he just cupped his hand over Klaus’ own, over the leather, shaking his head.

“I’m not comfortable using the belt.”

Because, fuck. Yeah, the belt. 

“Whatever. Use your hand, I don’t care. Just— make me hurt. Fuck me until I can’t think, just— Please.”

"Are you sure?"

He nodded.

The belt did get used, but to tie Klaus’ wrists in a sturdy loop. The headboard didn’t have any slats, anything to secure the belt to but he was being good, he really was; face down, ass up, keeping still just as Diego instructed. Not that he would fight it, he wouldn’t be a brat; this wasn’t the game that they were playing. His neck was strained uncomfortably to one side and the main thing that he could focus on, stupidly, was the incessant burn of this curl that was moving back and forth, tickling the side of his nose. Thoughts were still flying around in fragments, worries and doubts and a hollow sort of sadness, he tried to push them away, to focus on the moment, but—

Diego’s hand was hesitant at first so Klaus had to tell him, harder, _harder,_ until the blows landed sharp enough that eventually he couldn’t speak. Soon, the only thing he was aware of, the only thing he could process was how the pain radiated and stung brilliantly, wires crossing until the burn turned to ice. It was that, that very shade that he was missing. And he didn’t have to count blows, to say thank you - Diego was nice like that, but still relentless, and had a really firm hand. It was perfect, it was—

He was shaking, he realized when Diego stopped, caressing his lower back, placing electric kisses on the stinging skin. Shaking and pleasantly empty. He could barely hear Diego’s voice, asking him softly, “color?”

Words, colors, all of that seemed far away, and realized after a while that he was smiling, and had to make himself remember. 

“Green.” 

“You seem pretty out of it, do you want me to stop?”

He managed to shake his head. “Don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded; a disproportionate effort for the gesture.

“Fuck me,” he said it to the white of the sheet, but the way Diego’s breath came shallower, he surely heard. _Fuck me until I cry_. 

Diego was trailing his rough hand up the back of his thighs, where the skin was tight and smarting, and Klaus hissed. Distantly, he heard Diego say something, but it was far away - _he_ was far away - and he just nodded.

“Relax, baby." Diego’s voice was closer now, he could feel it in the warmth brushing his ear, so Klaus did with a deep sigh against the cotton.

He started shaking again when Diego finally withdrew his fingers and sank into him, one slick slide until he bottomed out, making Klaus arch up against his chest. He couldn’t do much but lay there while Diego fucked him, hard and at a merciless pace just like he asked for, and all that emptiness inside him was starting to turn into lightness. And he didn't feel used, he didn’t burn with that sick, satisfying feeling that he learned to crave, even though he'd be tempted to tell himself that he did. But now, this, _Diego_ \- it was something else entirely. Klaus wasn't just taken apart, he _was being put together._

His cock was hard, trapped under his belly, and his fingers were curled around the wooden slat, and Klaus couldn’t think about anything with the heat pulsing in his ass, and the waves of pleasure echoing, implausibly, in the roof of his mouth.

The squelch and slap of their skin were obscene, punctuating the silence - Diego was quiet save for his labored huffs, and Klaus— he was way past words. He was so well past thoughts too, and it was all raw sensations, electric jolts running through an exposed nerve. It’s on the edge of that wave, right before it all got too jumbled for him to understand it, that he felt himself slipping.

He was marginally aware of his own body and the way Diego held onto his hips, fingers digging in where they held him up. Diego was saying something, Klaus couldn’t understand the words but he felt their heat and how they filled the emptiness inside him. He was there but he also wasn’t and it was glorious, it was peaceful and warm. Klaus was always alone there, usually suspended in a few seconds between breaths, but this time he could feel Diego's presence too. It was just the two of them, and their breaths and their bodies; just the two of them and it was soft and easy and _good._

When Klaus came to, hazy and slow, he was in Diego’s arms, and his wrists were unbound, tingling where one of Diego’s palms were rubbing them gently. He felt wrung out, exhausted but finally light.

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“You went under pretty hard, I stopped.”

“Aww, you should have finished.”

“Klaus, you were almost unconscious. You were crying.”

Klaus shrugs. “Still. I wanted you to come.”

“I don't need to, baby; there's plenty of time for that. How do you feel?” Diego paired the question with a kiss against Klaus’ shoulder.

He felt calm. 

“I’m good.” It wasn’t easy to turn, his body still caught in the haze, but he managed to - only to kiss Diego. “Thank you. I— I needed that.”

“Of course baby.” Klaus had to look at him, hoping to maybe see himself, somehow. All he saw were warm eyes and a soft smile. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Klaus said, because it was the truth. He really didn’t, as much as he knew he should - and that he will.

"You should probably see a therapist, though. I don't think my dick can cure depression.” 

Klaus found enough breath to laugh. 

“I will.” 

He sighed and pushed closer, fitting himself better against Diego. The weight of _before_ wasn’t gone, it had just compacted. 

“It’s just- a lot. Everything’s changed. This is new. I don’t know what’s next.”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, he wasn’t even sure of what he’d say when he opened his mouth but it was _that_. All of that. Diego took a moment before he spoke. 

“I don’t think we’re supposed to know what’s next. And I don’t think it’s all set in stone.” Diego pulled him closer, his strong arm wrapped around Klaus, making him feel gently grounded. “You know what you’re gonna do?” Klaus had to turn, expecting the answer that hung in the air even though Diego surely had it. “You’re gonna adapt. I have a feeling that’s what you’ve always done. You will again. _We_ will.”

“It’s kind of a shame that the marks don’t last,” said Diego, landing a playful smack on Klaus’ ass just as he was pulling up his skirt. 

“If only there were some other implements that one could use- oh wait! There are.”

“Come here,” Diego held his hand out and Klaus took it, finding himself dragged between Diego’s thighs, where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “We should have a proper conversation about that, though.”

“About what?”

“About _that_ , you brat.” Klaus twisted and almost got out of Diego’s hold. Almost. “Let’s not talk limits and all that while you’re already in a bad place. Okay?”

“Okay,” Klaus said, pulling the skirt higher on his thighs and straddling Diego. “What about you? Are you okay? I didn’t think before I- sprung that on you.”

“I’m fine. Just— talk to me, okay? I’ll talk to you. Grown-up people having grown-up conversations and all.”

Diego spent the rest of the afternoon with him, watching for any signs of dropping, but Klaus was fine. He was finally _fine_. He really was. He told Diego as much, both in the car and in the library where they browsed and kissed behind shelves, he told him on the elevator ride to their floor - the elevator that had been having a surprisingly good week - he told him back in the apartment as well. Eventually, Diego believed him and put on his vigilante get-up and went out.

Klaus spent the evening painting Ben’s toenails and listening to stories about some guys in the gym that Klaus had never met, and about how gosh-darned amazing Allison was. But it was getting so late that it was almost early, and Ben got sleepy so Klaus shooed him to his own apartment before he fell asleep - again - on Diego’s couch.

Klaus couldn’t sleep - he was on vigilante time, after all - so he stayed up reading. The book had gripped him more than he thought it would, and he turned page after page, fighting the exhaustion that was finally creeping in. In truth, he was just as involved in the love story on the page as he was in his insistence to be awake when Diego finally came home. Before long, his eyes grew unfocused and the words danced on the page, and he caught himself nodding off - briefly - before startling awake with an inhale and starting the page from the top.

Sleep had finally claimed him, but he drifted awake in the sound of the shower running. Diego was home. 

The water turned off long ago, but Diego hasn’t come out of the bathroom. There was the sound of the cabinet door falling shut, some long minutes ago, then nothing discernible. When it’s been long enough for Klaus to worry and wonder whether he should go check on him, as awkward as that might be, the bedroom door opened and Diego walked in. His brows were furrowed and he approached the bed slowly, clearing his throat. 

“How good are you with a sewing needle?”

“Well, as long as the rip isn’t too big, I can do a decent job.” Klaus perched up on an elbow, stretching his sleep-heavy body. “I can’t do stitchwork if that’s what you’re thinking, but I can definitely darn most kinds of tears. Depending on how hard I try, I can sew a fairly straight stitch.”

“Good enough. What about blood, can you handle blood?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I need you to stitch me up. Remember how I said I have a thing with needles? Yeah. So can you help? Eudora used to do this for me, but-” 

“Stitch you up? Are you hurt?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I might have to go to a hospital otherwise, and that’s a whole thing I don’t need right now.”

“Fuck, this has happened before?” Klaus got up, raising his fingers to where Diego lifted his shirt to show a nasty-looking cut on his flank. “Eww, that looks bad. Does it hurt?”

“It looks worse than it is,” Diego said, stoic and tense and quite possibly lying.

Fortunately, Diego wasn't lying - the cut wasn’t very deep, and Klaus managed to neither faint nor puke while he did his best to thread the curved needle through his skin as neatly as he could. Diego had his eyes screwed shut, frowning like the pain was merely an annoyance while the way he held his breath when the needle poked out told an entirely different story.

“Where did you learn how to sew?”

“It’s funny, really; the girlfriend of one of my old, uh,” he stopped, swallowing before he decided to go for it anyway, “my guys. My dealers. She used to so stitchwork and— honestly, for a man who saw that many people he was _such_ a bore. The conversational equivalent to the color beige. So while waiting for him to be done with, uh,” he gestured with the needle, pulling a little at the thread and wincing at Diego’s pained grunt, “shit, sorry. Anyway, yeah, I had time to kill and she showed me a couple of things. Came in really handy, too; I couldn’t exactly get a new wardrobe anytime accidents happened. And well, accidents happened.”

“Riveting tale.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow. 

“I can tell you about the time I went to the beach with a couple of pals and woke up skiing; that was a confusing afternoon. What about you? Any fun anecdotes involving criminals in the area?”

“No.”

“No? Okay.”

Klaus jumped when Diego’s hand grabbed his, mid-air.

“I’m in _pain._ I can’t exactly converse right now.”

“Okay,” Klaus said, softly. “I don’t want to rush this. I mean, scars are sexy and all but I wouldn’t want to leave you with one.”

“You will.”

“Ye of little faith!”

“No, just—” Diego held his breath until the needle poked out, “it’s a pretty long cut. It happens.”

“Speaking of, how _did_ this happen?”

Diego took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“Sword.”

“What?” Klaus tried not to laugh, he really did. He failed. “Did you bring knives to a sword fight?”

“No, an asshole brought a fucking sword to a gas station hold-up.”

“That’s… excessive.”

“I know. Who brings a fucking sword with them?”

“Need I remind you you carry a number of knives with you, too?”

“Knives are not swords.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me.” Klaus punctuated the sentence with a snap of the scissors, cutting the thread. “But you have you admit, you carry well over the average number of knives per person. There, done.” 

Diego raised his head to look, wincing in pain as he tries to lift off the bed.

“Not bad.”

“Always superlatives with you.”

“No, it’s really good; thank you.”

“You’re lucky my hands stopped shaking, this could have turned into quite a mess. I mean, it’s not exactly pretty but you’ll pull through.”

“Thank you, really.”

“Yeah,” Klaus said, when what he meant to say was _I love you._

Diego reluctantly accepted his help, but Klaus did his best to ease him into a comfortable position, pulling the sheet over them both. He had a brief moment of clarity, the kind that made his hair stand on end, when he thought— _this is my life now_. Ghosts and brothers and sewing stitches, sobriety and fucking… love. 

“I need this to turn out okay,” he said, looking at Diego who was laying on the pillow beside him.

“It won’t if you don’t let yourself have it.”

“Funny, that’s pretty much what Ben said.”

“Well, Ben’s right.”

“Ugh,” Klaus sank his head into his pillow. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Hey. Look at me.” Diego groaned when he turned, but managed to roll oh his side, then gently cupped Klaus’ cheek, making him look up. “Life gives you no guarantees, everything can go to shit in one second. But that doesn’t mean you should stop trying; it should make you want to try even harder.”

Frankly, it sounded exhausting. But oddly reassuring too.

“I’m afraid—” 

Diego didn’t let him say it, what he was afraid of. He was afraid that something would happen to Ben. He was afraid that one day Diego might take a look at Klaus and realize he’s made a mistake, and leave. He was afraid that he’d relapse, that something would happen to— Diego didn’t let him say any of that, and instead leaned over with a small grunt of pain, then kissed him.

“That’s normal. I’m afraid too; it’s how this whole thing works. But when you don’t give it enough power, you give yourself a chance to actually make it.”

“You should hold seminars or something.”

Diego laughed. “Fuck you, I was trying to make a point.”

A fair and solid point, Klaus had to agree. 

“So hey, you know how I never said I love you?” Diego looked at him with a dopey smile, so out of place for the momentous occasion that Klaus felt that it was. “Well, I do.”

“That’s certainly one way to say it. I’ll take it.”

And there, that was it. It was nothing. Well, it was a lot, a whole fucking lot, a giant weight that Klaus had lugged around like an idiot all that time, but now that it was out? Yeah, it was easy.

Klaus didn’t know what else to say. “Good,” he concluded, rolling on his back then turning, stealing so much of the sheet that Diego had to tug it back. Klaus settled against Diego’s chest, burrowed closer in his lap. 

“Good,” echoed Diego against the back of his neck, placing a kiss on the top of his spine. 

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Communication is my kink.
> 
> Idiots got to fall in love. It’s the law™. Also, there are varying degrees of 'okay', and you don't have to be over a certain threshold to magically ✨be happy✨. Life's complicated.

**Author's Note:**

> I've worked on his fic for _months_ in order to bring it to a place that I'm finally happy with, but I feel like ~it's time to finally set it free.
> 
> All my thanks to lokiskliego for the beta and all the support! <3
> 
> Come say hi on [ Tumblr. ](https://geometryoftime.tumblr.com/)


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